The New Threat
by TheScribe6754
Summary: Relations between Humans and Mutants are steadily becoming worse & Mutants have begun disappearing, forcing the newly adjusted Elizabeth Hawthorne back into the fray, caught in a riptide of deception and desire as her moral judgment & ideals are put to the test once more. With the elusive Bastard, Kelly, Trask, and one angry kitty on her heels, it's time to take a stand! AzazelxOC
1. Chapter 1

**I'm baaaaaack! So, this fic is set several months after the New World. If you haven't read this one or the first fic, The New Recruit, I would advise you to do so, or else just try to follow along and see how that goes. Otherwise, you know the drill. So sit back, relax, and, as always, Enjoy! ;D**

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words! Thank you!**_

Chapter 1: Late Night Guests

It's raining outside.

I've never really cared for rain. Sure, it _feels_ good, but with it there always comes a certain risk: Slippery roads, lightning strikes, flooding...I can hear the sounds of the ocean stirring down the hill from my home (a sturdy little cottage made of metal that appears relatively small on the outside, yet is two stories high and houses a master bedroom, a guest room, a living room larger than both bedrooms combined, but only one restroom—not that I need another one) and I can hear the winds rising and falling just outside my window—

But that's not all I hear.

I move to the window, hair standing on end, and peer through the curtains. I heard voices; low, muffled, distinctly male voices coming from just outside, around the house. No one really comes around here seeing as all homes are within Genosha's city limits, while mine is located apart from others. Tarina, her daughter Shay, rarely her husband, Aaron, Lorna, Tabitha and Dimitri are the only ones who come down every now and again, but they never visit without calling first and letting me know.

In short, no one should be here right now.

That familiar feeling of foreboding that has been bothering me all week returns with a vengeance. It's the same one I felt when Magneto invaded my College in Colorado eighteen years ago; the day my friends and I agreed to join him; a day that changed my life forever. And it's a feeling that occurs whenever there is imminent danger.

Heeding my gut feeling, I squint through the curtains, peering into the murky darkness for any signs of hostiles, and I inhale sharply, jerking away from the window when I see a large silhouette dart across my sandy lawn and melt into the shadows. But not before I catch the hint of a handgun sticking out of his belt. I freeze, listening.

…They're at the front door.

I hurry to the living room and dial the emergency number on my phone. The line rings and I call into it immediately, crying out, "_Magnus!_" But when I don't receive a reply, I try again, whispering urgently, "Erik? Erik, are you there?!" But he doesn't respond. Someone has severed my connection. I'm on my own.

I need to—

Damn it, I can hear them coming in! They've managed to pick the lock, and now they're in_ my_ house. I set down the phone and I slowly stand, listening intently, as their footsteps draw closer. I can hear the cocking of their guns; the hush of their voices; the sound of their heavy boots on _my _floor as they move to surround me. I recede into the furthest corner of the room, bracing myself for the attack. I was unable to astral project into my Mutant form, and I certainly can't do it now. My body would be completely exposed and I would have to worry about protecting both it _and_ myself at once.

It looks like I'll have to rely on more _unsavory_ methods of self-preservation.

The second they burst through the front door and into my living room—barking in harsh, Russian tones—I rain down upon them a hailstorm of gunfire from each hand. The shots are like cracks of thunder ringing in my ears and I struggle to keep from closing my eyes on impulse each time I pull the trigger. But I can't close my eyes. Not if I don't want to kill them. The men scatter, turning over couches and shelves to use as shields. (_My _furniture!) I use the metal coffee table for cover, kneeling behind it as I aim for shoulders, kneecaps, hands, and shins. I don't want to kill them, but I'm most definitely not going to let them kill me first!

I run out of ammunition a short while later (my aim always was terrible), and my attackers put away their own weapons just as I toss my guns away and stand, kicking up the table and sending it hurtling into the group as they make to grab me. The table bowls over a few of them, but the rest rush forward to catch me. Apparently, they want me alive.

Too bad for them.

I duck away and run for the fireplace, where a nice, sharp poker waits for me in its holder, and I dive forward to my right and snatch the poker with my left hand. It melds into my hand like a metal extension of my arm, and I swing around—mid-dive—and catch one man across the face with its sharp edge in one swift move. He's lucky I didn't have the chance to dig up my broad swords (which are currently put away in my bedroom upstairs), or else he'd have a lot more than a three inch gash in his face. I dive behind my light-blue couch, knocking it over (to provide me with a barrier between myself and the 8 or 9 men still standing) as the man falls away, screaming, and I crouch into a fighting stance, ready for the next round of men who want to dance.

The first guy to come too close gets a roundhouse kick to the face and the poker sinks deep into the shoulder of the second. Too deep. Before I have the chance to withdraw the poker, the man staggers back, taking it with him, and I'm forced to fight without it. Even so, I'm still quick and I'm still strong. Using my Deadlocke training, I begin moving in swift circles, using the infiltrator's size and weight against them. Strength waning, I begin to struggle as I'm forced to block blow after blow from one particularly large man with snowy blonde hair and blazing hazel eyes, using some of my own household objects (books, candlesticks, shelves) to give me the advantage. His tactics are strictly offense, causing me to focus my defense solely on him to keep from going down.

The large man with hazel eyes falls on one knee after one well-placed uppercut and a particularly brutal kick to the middle, but, while I'm busy with him, two other guys manage to sneak up behind me. Someone hits me over the head—presumably with a gun—and a blinding flash of light streaks across my line of vision and they catch me by the arms, yanking them behind me before I can slip away. Fighting past the numb ache in the back of my head and the black dots dancing in my line of vision, I rear my legs up and lash out fiercely as more men advance on me. I kick one heavily tattooed man so hard in the knee that I feel it dislocate beneath my bare foot and he goes down screaming as the man with blonde hair stands up once again and starts forward, eyes trained on me with violent intent.

He waves off his frightened comrades silently, wiping at the blood on his temple before deflecting a kick aimed right for his head with one hand, and landing a solid blow in my abdomen with a heavily knuckled fist. But before I have the chance to recover, He catches me one—two—three more times in the ribs before backhanding me once with a closed fist. The force of the combination of crippling blows knocks the wind out of me and I double-over, sinking to my knees while the men holding my arms continue to hold fast, keeping me in a kneeling position. The commotion settles down now that I've been subdued and only the cursing, groaning and moaning of the injured men sprawled about my living room can be heard aside from my own pained gasps.

Only five of them remain relatively unhurt and they remain wary of me, watching me like one watches a tiger on a loose chain. Even without my astral body, I am still to be feared.

As it should be.

Panting, I gaze spitefully up at the yellow-haired, bright-brown-eyed man, and I spit to show my displeasure, landing a nice spot of red on the floor. He knew I wouldn't be in my astral body. They _all_ knew. The blonde haired man smirks through bloody lips and kneels down before me, asking in a surprisingly soft and charismatic voice, "Do you know who I am?" Definitely Russian, but with a much lighter accent than I'm used to.

I say the first thing that comes to mind, "Jehovah's Witness?"

One of the men holding me gives my hair a painful yank, cursing at me in Russian, but the leader (I'm guessing) waves him down and says in that eerily pleasant voice, "I am Krillen. I am—" He stops himself._ "Was_ the right hand man to_ former_ Russian mob boss: Grigori Vahkrov."

I smirk, having suspected that this was the case from the start, and, without missing a beat, I respond with, "And I'm guessing you're not here for an autograph…"

At this, I feel the sting of Krillen's hand on my cheek for the second time, but I'm determined not to whimper. Instead, I lift my head proudly, cheek burning as fiercely as my ultra violet eyes. Krillens' hazel eyes narrow and his pleasant voice turns venomous as he says, "I had some misgivings about coming here, Ms. Hawthorne. I thought, 'how could such a sweet little girl do something so _unforgivable?_'…But I see now," His jaw clinches, a furious muscle working in his temple. "You are no little girl." He points a black, gloved finger at me, still on one knee, growling, "You are a demon and an abomination—"

"And what did that make your master?" I snap back, enraged. _Abomination?_ Now _that's_ just rude. "I assure you, he was no Saint, Krillen. He may have been Human, but he was more a Monster than any _Mutant_ I've ever known—"

"Then you have not known many Mutants," States Krillen immediately, that muscle in his temple still pumping furiously as his temper flares. "I know Mutants who would tear you apart while your friends and family watch, and then kill _them,_ too; Mutants we _could_ have sent after _you._ But seeing as Grigori's murder was a _personal offense_…we only saw fit that _we_ were the ones to avenge him."

"I'm flattered, really," I murmur viciously, bristling at the reverent way this man speaks of Grigori, as if the man truly had been a Saint. "I only hope you do a better job of trying to kill me than your boss did. You see, that was his one fatal flaw:" I pause for effect, eyes glowing ferociously, then say in a low hiss, "He underestimated me."

My mouth automatically shuts when Krillen gives a soft chuckle and draws his gun, saying, "Perhaps we ought to finish his work," He lowers the gun towards the hem of my nightdress and begins to lift it with the barrel of his gun. I flinch, inhaling sharply as a spike of fear shoots up my spine and my gut twists with sudden dread. His men laugh appreciatively, drawing in closer as a thick tension fills the room. "Don't you think?"

There are a few murmurs of agreement mingled with nasty laughter, and my chest heaves as I try to figure a way out of this. This needs to end.** Now.** "You're going to have to kill me, Krillen." I say in an equally soft voice. The men in the room stir anxiously, but whatever they're thinking _isn't _going to happen. I'll be sure of that. "It's what you came here to do. You don't want to make this more complicated than it needs to be."

"_You _do not tell me what I want." Is Krillen's cold reply, his mouth twisting with anger and genuine grief over the death of his boss; a murderer and a fiend. He jabs me hard with the gun in the hip, his gloved hand clamping around my jaw, and he leans in and hisses, "Make no mistake, you will die," He stands up, holstering the gun as his men change their hold on me and pin me, kicking and tugging and fighting, to the floor. Krillen moves to stand directly over me, withdrawing a blade from his belt, "When I say so."

Like hell.

My right leg lunges out faster than Krillen can avoid it and I land a shattering blow right between his legs, but before he can collapse on top of me—red faced and cursing through strangled gasps—I trip him up, entangling my legs in his, sending the large man crashing down into one of his comrades. I roll back onto my shoulders and catch one of the men pinning my right arm to the ground in the face. He loosens his hold and I take the moment to loop my legs beneath his shoulders. I use all of my weight to pull him forward and send him, head first into the wooden floor at my feet, using my knees to keep him from crushing me. I roll over and start wrestling with the other man for my arm. I manage to get behind him, locking my arm around his throat in a choke hold while I draw his gun from his own waist band.

Aiming an arm over my captive's shoulder, I shoot Krillen in the upper arm as he writhes on the ground, and catch two of the other men in the thigh and shin as well. They take cover with their tails between their legs while I aim the gun at my captive's head, staring intently into Krillen's eyes as he manages to get to his feet, one hand at his arm and the other between his legs. His pale-brown eyes give the off an air of fire, but they are streaming with pain and outrage.

It's just us now.

"Walk away," I command, my hand unwavering, "Or you lose another man." I cock the gun with my thumb. "It's your choice."

I know I won't shoot him, but _Krillen_ doesn't.

Even so, that doesn't stop him from making his next move. I watch in shock and frozen horror as Krillen draws his own gun and aims it squarely for his own man's head. I can't see the look on my captive's face as it happens, but I can feel him tense with fear and understanding.

I dive out of the way just in time.

_**Bang!**_

"B-but—" I object as Krillen shoves the man's body out of the way and kicks the fallen gun out of my reach. I lost my grip on it as I was jumping to get out of the way. Now, I back away on the floor, having bet my life on that bluff, but it simply doesn't make sense. "He—he was one of your men!" Was this whole thing about avenging a lost comrade?!

Krillen's yellow eyes are ablaze with loathing as he advances on me, tossing the gun aside. All of his men are down except for him, but he limps noticeably from when I personally crippled his manhood. Another personal offense, it would seem. "I would rather he die at the hand of a comrade than that of a _devil_. What I did was an act of mercy." He spits.

My strength is nearly tapped out. My head throbs along with my entire midsection and I know a fist fight between me and Krillen won't last very long.

Unless one of us slips up.

I reach behind me for something, anything to arm myself with (anything to give myself an advantage), and I almost think I'm going to have to make a run for it when my hand dives into something soft and sandy. I grab a fistful, smiling viciously, saying, "Oh, I'm sure he would agree!" I look to his fallen partner, plastering a mocking smile on my lips and calling out, "What do you think, _Vlad_? Would you rather have been killed by a devil—" I look up at Krillen, smirking dangerously, "Or a _dog_?"

Krillen's face contorts with rage and the next second, he's diving for me—just like I expected he would. Once his face is perfectly in range, I lift my hand and throw a fistful of kitty litter right into his face. He cries out, rearing as his hands work furiously to dig the crystals out of his eyes, and I turn on my stomach and go to make a run for it.

Krillen, however, is more determined than I gave him credit for.

Blind, he lunges out on his hands and knees and latches onto both of my legs, dragging me back down. I turn over and kick out at him repeatedly, going for his weak spot as he reels me in closer, but his rage has lent him strength to endure my blows and with a final tug, I'm under him and he has his hands clasped around my throat. My hands go to his, prying at skin with my nails, but I can already feel my head growing light as I struggle to breathe. Grunting and growling like an animal, Krillen bashes my head against the floor, nearly knocking me unconscious, as he thrashes me about, hands constricting tighter and tighter around my windpipe. "A few more seconds of this_,_" He mutters through clenched teeth peppered with kitty litter and blood. He shakes his head rapidly, blinding crystals still in his watery eyes, and groans, "And it's all over."

"_No…_"

I thrash harder against him, reaching up a hand to claw at his eyes, but he lifts his head just past my reach. My finger nails claw at the front of his black shirt and scrape his jaw just barely, but I can't reach his throat, his ears, his eyes, or anything else I can use to hurt him. And soon, my clawing becomes feeble and my hand falls. Knowing he's won, Krillen grins and stops throttling me, but keeps a steady hold on my neck. I can feel my pulse slowing under his fingers. He leans down and growls, "The Bastard sends his regards."

_They're working for the Bastard? I thought—I thought the Bastard was with the MRD!_

My shock is suddenly dimmed by a creeping darkness that begins to settle over me. My vision blurs, black dots dance in front of my eyes until they blot out my vision like paint spilling over a canvas, my ears are ringing to the point of deafness, and whatever breath I draw in comes in an odd, choking wheeze. And then it all just starts to fade, and, for a moment, I think it really _is_ over.

Then Krillen's body is abruptly thrown off of me, his hands jerking and releasing their hold, and then he's gone. I roll onto my side, ears ringing, as I cough and wheeze and _breathe_, my throat aching unbearably, and the only indication of what is happening are the sounds of a scuffle, a shout, a groan, a gunshot, a roar of pure, animalistic rage, and a final, death-scream before the only sounds that can be heard are, once again, the agonized cries and moans of Krillen's injured men. And even those are silenced before long.

It takes me a while before I can sit up at last—before I'm brave enough to confirm what I've heard—and when I do, I find that I'm still not prepared for the massacre before me. Bodies mar my floor with bloody pools of death and there are no longer whimpers of pain but deadly silence. It rings in my ears even more so than the rushing of my own blood so that all I can hear now is my own, frantic breathing, and my heart beat…My heart beat…

_I'm alive._

But who—?

"I knew you wouldn't kill 'em," His low rumble emerges, along with the rest of him, from around the corner at the far end of the living room. I sit, paralyzed, unable to speak or move as he says, "So, I took the liberty for myself." Stepping over bodies and fallen furniture, he moves closer, growing in size, before he stops, standing a few feet before me and seemingly several stores above me. His claws drip with blood and there's a gaping wound in his side where Krillen must have shot him before he died. It tears right through the leather of his jacket and the blue, buttoned-up shirt underneath, and his jeans and skin are painted red with the blood of my enemies. I stare at him a moment, shivering and still paralyzed on the floor, and my eyes end up going from his blue one's to the gaping wound in his side once more. "Why aren't you healing?" I croak finally, avoiding the obvious question of "what the fuck are you doing here?"

He shakes his head, dirty blonde hair falling messily about his shoulders, and he shrugs with a vague, "Dunno, must be their weapons. Heard about some guns that are made to slow us down." He shifts on his feet and I nod to myself. "Mm," I mutter in understanding; my voice is raspy and my throat painfully dry (like I just swallowed a pint of glass), but it still doesn't mask the awkwardness of my speech, "I've heard of those, too."

Again, I look up at him, unsure of what to make of this, then, finally, I manage to stagger to my feet, steadying myself against the wall with one hand at my throat and the other at my bruised stomach (I don't think anything's cracked or broken, thank God). He opens his mouth, as if to ask if I'm okay (or something crazy like that), but I turn away and say quickly, "C'mon, let's get you fixed up. There's been enough blood shed for one night."

My footing becomes surer as I attempt to walk off the beating I've just received, heading up the stairs and turning to the closet down the hall of my bedroom. He looms behind me, following almost silently save for the faint sounds of his heavy boots sinking into the carpet. I open the door and, groaning, reach a shaking hand for the large first-aid kit I invested in long ago but never bothered to put to use. But that's not to say that I haven't had need of it.

I go to close the door, finding my voice as I say, "I thought we had a deal—"

I give a startled gasp when I close the closet door and find his six-foot-something frame standing just on the other side of it. I hadn't heard him come up around the other side of me. I sigh in frustration, slamming the door shut. "Was a long time ago, frail." Creed replies smugly, a smirk curling his lip to show his fanged teeth.

_Not **that **long ago._

"Oh?" Is my humorless response and he scoffs at me when I push past him roughly to get to my bedroom. "Then just what were you doing in Genosha?" I call as I head inside. I don't want to go _near_ the living room; don't want to be surrounded by all of that death. At least, that's what I _tell_ myself is the reason for taking this party to the bedroom.

"Just passin' through," Is his lame excuse as he follows me inside. He's not even _trying_ to give a convincing lie! I pause, a reply caught in my throat, and just sort of _stare_ as he sheds first his leather jacket and then his blue shirt, which he unceremoniously tosses over one of my dressers, but not before wiping some of the blood and sweat off of his bare chest and rippling forearms. My eyes travel down from his broad shoulders to his lower back where skin ends and his jeans begin, and I feel my pulse quicken in my neck (_Dimples! I saw dimples!). _I avert my eyes suddenly, face heating up, as he turns, saying, "Heard something going on and decided to see if I could join in."

My hand goes to my neck where bruises are forming around my throat, and I turn, kit in hand, and meet his eye, asking in all seriousness, "Why _didn't_ you?"

He knows what I mean.

Still, he plays it off, "20 to one don't exactly sit right with me. Just be glad I hate Russians more than X-Men." I roll my eyes in response, wanting to slap him in the face for being so damned dodgy, but, instead, I set the kit on the table near the small reading couch in my room and busy myself with trying to figure out how to open the damned thing. Sabretooth moves to stand behind me, saying maliciously, "Speakin' of Commies, where _is_ old Red?" I freeze, blink a few times, but don't meet his eye. Keeping my back to him, I open my mouth and close it a few times, trying to find the right thing to say, before I settle with a sullen, "Not here."

He chuckles just behind me, making my skin crawl and pulse quicken as he steps closer and asks, "Found a younger model, eh?"

My fingers slip on the stubborn tape that keeps the kit sealed shut and it flies open and nearly spills all of its contents on the floor. I bawl my fists to keep from fumbling the kit again and I shoot daggers at Creed over my shoulder, saying quietly, "I left him behind." I inhale deeply, feeling tired all of a sudden and straighten. Just the mention of him…I don't know if it saddens me, excites me, or angers me. Probably all of the above. So I push it from my mind all together. It's easier that way. "I had some things I needed to figure out. _Alone._"

His voice rumbles in my ear, "Yeaaah, we see how well _that_ worked out—"

"I can take care of myself!" I snap angrily, whipping around to personally glare into his eyes, mere inches away. He glares back unwaveringly, placing his hands on the edge of the table just behind me, blue eyes narrowing maliciously as he growls, "Sure looked like it. Maybe next time you're _takin' care of yourself _I'll let the guy_ strangle_ you, then."

Enraged, I shove against his bare chest with growing frustration. The move hardly fazes him, but his eyes narrow at me in as I reply heatedly, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall having _your_ hands around my throat on more than one occasion!" I pause, unafraid, but growing more and more frustrated by the second. God, he just—he just makes want to _scream!_ "And what is it to _you_, anyway?" I sputter, knowing there's no denying that he _did_ save my life, damn him. "I didn't _ask_ for you to be here! And you _still_ haven't told me why you're here in the first place." I scoff to myself, pushing past him roughly as I mutter, "Not that you'd tell me anyway..." I turn to the small reading couch in my bedroom, pulling him by the forearm with a firm grip.

He gives a pained groan as I shove him down onto the couch with a snappish, "Sit." I turn away as he chuckles darkly at me and fetch my own seat across from him. I pull the table closer and I busy myself with rummaging through the kit for a few minutes while our tempers run dry. I would have thought he'd keep pushing my buttons but he remains oddly quiet, a muscle working in his jaw. I let the silence build as my brain works a way out of this, through this, to _explain_ this, but my mind draws a blank. There's a strange, building tension in the air that only gets worse the longer I remain silent, the longer he watches me with those farel eyes, but I just can't pin it. _Why am I helping you?_ I think to myself and then, as always, I start to think aloud.

"You saved me," I state as I fumble through the kit, looking for bandages. I only need something to cover the wound while it heals. That and something to keep it from getting infected; I'll look for that, too. The sight of it makes me somewhat nauseous and I can't help but fear for how advanced the humans have become over the past year. New weapons; new ways to kill. "You could have died."

"_Thanks,_ I didn't—_ngh!_—know that," He winces as I get up, bracing one hand on his shoulder, and begin to clean his wound with one, not-so-gentle hand. _Smart-ass._

"Why?" I demand softly as his blood blossoms and soaks into the white towel. I fish around for some Neosporin and gauze. "You didn't_ have_ to get involved. You could have left me to die. Hell, you could have killed me yourself! It would have made sense." I glance up at his face, able to see levelly into his eyes for the first time. "But you didn't. That _doesn't_ make sense."

He's quiet for a long moment, massive chest rising and falling rhythmically as I gently dab at the open wound, watching me, then he asks, "Would you have done the same for me?"

I think about this a moment, taken aback by the straight-forward reply. I look up with a sigh before saying with absolute certainty, "Yes, I would have. At least, that's what I like to think." I add as I dab at the gash where the blood has begun to drip. The bullet went straight through. It looks like a pretty serious injury but with his healing rate, it will be cleared up in maybe a few minutes to an hour. Until then, I need to stem the bleeding. _Ugh, he's bleeding all over my couch!_ "But that doesn't answer my question." I look up, gauze in hand, and find his eye once more. "Why did you save me?"

He exhales deeply, studies me a moment, completely serious, then says, "Don't know."

I sigh and continue patching the big idiot up. Typical. This is pointless. I should just kick him out. He deserves as much but…I can't seem to bring myself to just _stop_. I feel like I'm making amends somehow. Not just with him, but myself. Forgiving myself for what I took from another living soul and allowing myself to move on with a fresh start and my old outlook on life: That all life is precious to _someone; t_hat we all have the right to live, no matter who or what we are. And that, deep down, we are all only Human—_genetically mutated Humans_—but Human nonetheless. That's what I've been doing all along. Why I needed to leave the Institute. And I'd say I've done pretty damn well for myself. I've got it all pretty much figured out. Who knows? Maybe I'll visit the Institute sometime soon.

"It's not much," I say at last, smoothing on the flimsy film of gauze over the wound. He doesn't flinch; doesn't move at all. _So still._ This must feel like a paper cut to him. "But it should—"

In a move that catches me off-guard in every _sense _of the word, Creed leans forward and takes me in his arms, moving me onto his lap with ease, and all I can do is freeze as he kisses me, long and hard on the mouth. The move is so unexpected that for a moment, I'm paralyzed; my hands raised awkwardly and my body rigid. Then he pulls back, hands on my battered waist, and just stares at me with those startlingly animalistic eyes. I never noticed how…_blue_ they are. They look at me now, expectantly, but I'm still processing, processing…But the only word that comes to mind is, "_What?!_"

I blink several times, my hand going up to my mouth in shock, "_Victor!_" I whisper sharply, heart pounding furiously. I don't know what to make of this. I thought he _hated _me! One minute, he's threatening my life, then he's saving it, _then _he's yelling at me, and now _this_? What do I do?! What—

_What do I **want** to do?_

"Vic—" I start to say but he gives a pained groan and goes in for a second time, pulling me in even closer, tighter; his arms constricting around my midsection. I fidget, the bruises on my stomach still fresh; still painful. He loosens his grip in response, but hikes up my nightdress and continues to run his hands along my waist. The action isn't threatening or painful. If anything it's…passionate, gentle, and filled with need.

_What do I **want** to do?_

For once, I stop thinking. I kiss him back, and, after a brief moment of shock (like he hadn't expected me to be okay with this), Creed begins to pick up speed, cradling me to his body with a low growl that sends chills down the length of my spine. I claw at his back, almost angrily, combing through his hair as he starts groping at me. I feel his teeth graze my neck, his nails dig into my hips, but for whatever reason, I don't mind it at all. I want it to hurt. Oh, God what am I saying? What am I doing?!

_What am I doing?What am I doing?What am I doing?_

He winces, the cut on his side not fully healed, and I pull away from him, whispering through labored breath, "You're still hurt." But he just scoffs, saying roughly, "I can take it." He starts forward, then draws back, looking, for the first time since I've known him, uncertain, "Should be worried about yourself."

This time, I scoff at _him_ and I sit back, still straddling his lap, and pull off my torn, bloodied nightdress to reveal the various scars and bruises all over my body; the one's I've worked so hard to conceal, "I've taken a few beatings myself." I take his hand and press it against the vertical, unmistakable knife wound between my ribs. It's about three inches long and a centimeter wide; a spine-severing death strike. His hands continue to wander curiously over my body, his claws sending shivers across my skin. His fingers linger on the scar cutting across my shoulder from where an early MRD onboard a ship leaving Stryker's Island shot me. He raps on it lightly, "I remember that." He murmurs, bringing his hand back down to my side where a jagged piece of metal sliced a neat gash out of me during my escape from none other than Sabretooth himself.

He's so…intrigued by my scars; almost envious, it seems. For all of Creed's years of violence and suffering, he hasn't got an ounce of scar tissue to show for it. That must be a serious blow to the pride for someone like him. He frowns, studying the wound, not quite remembering that one, "Did I do that?"

I shake my head, "No." The ones he's done can't be seen anymore thanks to Donovan the Healer, but they're still there somewhere in my mind…so why can't I seem to pull myself away from him? Why do I want this?

He chuckles softly, "Not such a frail anymore, are you?"

I give an unwarranted smirk as an insane notion takes over my actions, leading me to take his jagged face in my hands, fingers digging into the rough skin of his jaw, and I lean forward and whisper forcefully, ironically, "Shut up, Creed."

* * *

**Soooo, _that_ happened...**

**This is officially my longest chapter ever! Good job! Thanks for reading and please leave your "WTF's" in the review section ^_^ Thank you again! Until next time...**

**~THESCRIBE!;D**


	2. Chapter 2 Escalation and A Trip

**No regrets!**

**Maybe.**

**That remains to be seen. Anyway, thanks for reading, I own nothing but my words and OC's, and don't forget to Enjoy! ;D**

Chapter 2: Escalation and A Trip Down Memory Lane

"Told you I'd make you scream." He rumbles with a deep groan of satisfaction, lying languidly beside me, completely unscathed, while the pain in my shoulder, hips, waist, and pretty much everywhere else nags at me, as if to say, "you're not just gonna 'Forget' about this one, girly…"

_Oh, I pretty much figured that one out already._

"You weren't kidding," I moan breathlessly, still hardly able to accept what just _happened._ Maybe this is just one of my lucid dreams that _feel_ insanely real but I will laugh about later after I wake up and drink myself under the table (yes, this has happened more than once). I peer at him through a curtain of my own mangled locks, slowly uncurling my fists where I'd gripped the sheets tight enough to cut off my circulation. I'm just running a hand through my hair when a thought occurs to me, "You were holding back a lot." I breathe, recalling the way he'd practically been fighting himself to keep from going all out; to keep from hurting me. And then there was me, striking him every chance I got and practically tearing his hair out to the point where he had to _subdue_ me to keep me from being beating him senseless. I glare at him enviously in the dark. The scratches on his back and chest, as well as the bruises on his face are already healed. And here I am, fighting to catch my breath as I press my face into the cool covers, aching all over. I turn over on my back, bringing a hand up to my head as I continue to steady my breathing, attempting to get my heart rate back to normal. Easier said than done.

My ears are ringing so badly I can hardly hear him when he groans, "Nah," He fixes his hands behind his head and sinking low into the sullied sheets, at ease, before adding, "You're tougher than I thought. Just glad you didn't cry."

I find myself scoffing at that, "Has that happened before?"

His disgruntled sigh is enough to tell me yes. "About had a fuckin' heart attack!" He exclaims, glaring up at the ceiling ruefully. "Killed the mood for damned sure. You'da thought I was _killin'_ her!"

"The thought crossed my mind a few times," I joke with a wry smirk. Suddenly, he's on top of me again, pinning my wrists down. His gaze suddenly becomes serious as he asks, "Did you really think I would kill you?"

"If I did," I murmur slowly. "This would have gone much differently." _It still could,_ a voice nags at me, but I push the thought away. "Now don't make me hit you again." I add. Still not sure what _that_ was about. "That actually hurt…" _Me._

"Eh, probably deserved it." He thinks on that a moment, then says, "No, _definitely_ deserved it." He lets go of my wrists and then lies back down, pulling me back against his chest with his arm draped possessively around my waist. I settle down, exhausted, but I have just one more question that's been nagging me about this whole..._thing._ "How long?" I ask softly.

I can practically feel the grin stretch across his face, "Inches or centimeters?"

I smack him on the arm, grinning to myself, and say, "You know what I mean! How long have you—" I hesitate slightly. "Have you wanted this?"

I can feel his chest expanding against me as he thinks about this a moment, and I brace myself for a vague "Dunno," when he says, "'Bout a year now." I think back to a year previous. What was I doing at that time?

"…Back in Sinister's labs," I remember now. "Huh…" That's why he had been acting so strangely! So, he wasn't going to kill me, after all. Looks like I dodged a bullet there! I mean, if we had…and then Psylocke walked in…But there's no way I would have—

Would I?

"You?"

"Mm?" I hadn't realized I'd been lost in thought until his voice reverberated through my person due to our close proximity, and it takes me a moment before I realize what he's asking. How long have **I** wanted this? Hell… "Oh, um…" I crane my neck and check the clock on my nightstand. It's about one in the morning. _Damn._ "About two hours now?" Realizing how bad that sounds, I quickly add, "I always thought you hated me."

"Don't pretend you haven't had a few words for me either, _girl._"

"Oh, so now it's girl?" I grin. He's got a point. I've shown him as much animosity as he's shown me, and yet here we are. "I do feel special!" A thought occurs to me and I glance at him over my shoulder, saying, "You know, I don't think I've ever heard you say my name."

"That so?"

I wrestle out of his grip and climb onto his chest, and murmur playfully, "Say it."

He groans, but doesn't argue or push me off. He perks a naughty eyebrow and purrs back, "_Make me._"

"Aaand how do you suppose I do that?" I ask, tracing his prominent jaw line with the tip of my finger.

_How many times have I tried to kill you? _

_How many times did I succeed?_

He gives a rumbling groan of thought while his hands come up and knead at my hips, "Could always fight. Like old times." Hm, fight it out with Creed? Sounds dangerous. Sounds…

_Fun._

"Ugh, you're making me feel _old,_" I pause, leaning forward and murmur with emphasis, "_Victor._" He leans forward suddenly, expectantly, but I draw back before our lips meet with a small, teasing gasp, a smile curling my lips. "See, it's not so hard. Now," I draw a slow breath and say softly, "I want to hear you say my name." He sighs deep in his throat. I can feel him growing restless beneath me, but each time he tries to get physical, I stop him or move out of his reach. "Say it." I repeat, staring down at him with a smug look that says, 'If you can plow me in my bed, you can say my damned name, too.'

And he _does,_ but so quietly, it's laughable. "What was that?" I ask mockingly. "I didn't quite—"

Suddenly, he's up, pushing me back and pinning me down so my head hangs off the side of the bed, and his mouth is hot on my neck as he breathes my name in a low growl, going as far as to go down the list of nicknames associated with my name in a string a muffled growls, "Elizabeth, Liz, Lizzie, Beth…" Running out of names (apparently), even though there are a million more, he lifts his head—mouth stopping mere centimeters from mine—and mutters, "Happy?"

"Immensely." Is my satisfied whisper. But suddenly, I become dreadfully unnerved as unwarranted traces of our memories together begin to flash in the corners of my mind. " '_Hunted in a park, pinned in a cell, hunted in the woods, caught by the throat, pinned in a cell, Tabitha injured, trapped in a cell with a gun, didn't kill him, saved from Sinister's lab, saved in my home, pinned in my bed...' " _Damn it all! Don't make me think about it now! I don't want to think about that. I_ can't_.

Pushing back unease, confusion, and (above all) incredulity, I somehow manage to find my voice and say, "Now, let me up. You're making me nervous."

He does, and I settle back into the covers, shivering. A moment later (a moment filled with hesitance and 'was it something I said?' on Creed's behalf), Victor Creed joins me, and all is still. I start to drift off into a fitful sleep, but something Creed says just before that keeps me awake far longer than I'd like, "Th' man that tried to rape you…" I inhale sharply, fingers curling around the sheets by my head. _Why—? _I find myself thinking. And not for the first time._ Why do people always have to—? I mean, why can't they just…leave it alone?_ "You killed 'im, right?"

I take a moment, catching my breath, then breathe in a voice barely above a whisper, "Yes." I turn onto my back, staring into the ceiling as an expectant pause settles on my shoulders, before sighing under my breath and continuing, "I possessed his body," I grapple for the words, murmuring, reliving, as I say into the darkness, "Saw…_everything _he was going to do to me…_with_ me…_on_ me—" My throat becomes tight, caught with the oft-repeated justifications for what I've done, and I have to take a few breaths before finally saying (somewhat hoarsely), "And then I put a bullet in his head. With his own hand." I laugh silently, mirthlessly, to myself while one, hot tear slips down the side of my face from my right eye, as I say bitterly, "I didn't feel a thing."

Another pause. Then—

"Good."

I glance at him, laying beside me with that air of general ease, but he doesn't say another word all night. The only other sounds come much later, with snoring louder than a fucking jet engine, which does little to help me fall asleep, but I probably wasn't going to get anywhere on that account anyway. I don't sleep much these days. But when I do,

It's a sleep like death.

* * *

He waited until she was asleep before he made his move.

He didn't know what he was still doing there, or what he had been thinking when he came to her home in the first place. It had been pure impulse. But when he saw that man climb up and through the window leading to her bedroom, he needed no further invitation. He caught the man trying to hide in her closet and subdued the Rus before tying him up in the bathroom. Problem solved. He didn't realize at the time, however, that there had been others, and that they had made it into the living room already. It was a full-scale attack. It had been chaos and he had stepped in later than he should have, but he'd wanted to see it play out.

Just like now.

It was dark. But he could see her perfectly with his farel eyes that reflected an eerie green light in the dark. The deep blue haze that drifted through the window cast silhouetted shadows of indigo on her skin, outlining every line, crease, and crevice on her unconscious form. She was fidgeting in her sleep, as though haunted by some invisible entity, and a light sweat drifted from her flesh like a cologne only _he_ could detect; could truly _appreciate_. He drifted closer, inhaling the fragrance until he was on top of her, sniffing her like a wild dog. He groaned, wrapped up in her scent, the warmth of her body, the oblivion of her person to his presence. His hands found their way to her throat in his passion. And slowly, so slowly, he began to apply pressure to her windpipe. Her breathing quickened and he found his own breath shallow as an animalistic need began to take hold. It would happen eventually, he knew. It was only a matter of time before the monster took over and everything he ever wanted, ever cared for, lay broken, destroyed, at his feet. He could end it then and there while she still slept. While she still believed she would wake up.

She had to die.

But somehow, his hands wouldn't allow him to break her. He just couldn't do it; in the same way that most people just can't hurt themselves, no matter how much they want to. He'd run into this problem so many times in the past that it had become a norm to him. Every time they'd crossed paths he could never seem to end her. Even at his most wild. He even went as far as to protect her on numerous occasions. And now, he struggled with himself again; caught between a fierce hate and a terrible hindrance.

His hands tightened only to the point of mild discomfort before he released her, cursing silently at his own depravity while her face returned to a relaxed state once more. She sank further into the sheets, one of her hands coming up by her face to trail her fingers at her lips with a soft moan, and he sat up rapidly, his own hand coming over his eyes as he groaned in frustration, desperation. He wanted her.

He wanted her _dead_.

_Just like Jimmy,_ a harsh voice echoed in his head as the fight began to leave him. _You're just like Jimmy. Can't do what needs to be done. You're __**weak**__—_

No.

Maybe it was stronger to fight the beast, than to give in to its demands. Maybe—maybe he could…

…

Maybe he was just fucking _tired_ and didn't feel like breaking her neck at the moment.

Maybe.

* * *

_**If you feel like there should be more, you're right. There **_**was**_** more. But seeing as I'm not an adult fiction fantasy writer, I've decided to leave that out. If you're hankering for some nasteh, nastiness, private message me for the rest and I just might do it. If not, stay tuned for the next chapter: Hot Water and let me know if you think this was a colossal mistake or if you'd probably have done the same. If not, why not? If so…god, you're sick (not really, you're awesome). Until next time!**_

_**~THESCRIBE!;D**_


	3. Chapter 3 Hot Water

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men nor do I have rights to any of its affiliates or characters. Thank you for reading (if you still are) and Enjoy;D**_

Chapter 3: Hot Water

I wake up feeling like I just woke up after a night of too much to drink at a college-style kegger party in one of those topnotch, testosterone-fueled fraternities (don't ask). At first, I can't feel my legs. Or my hips. Or the lower half of my body. Then, groaning, I manage to open my eyes only to quickly turn over, hissing, in order to block out the sunlight breaking through my curtained window. The right half of my bed is warm and I find myself burrowing into the covers, stretching out like a cat while wrapping my naked body in the soothing warmth of my bed. Wait—

Naked?

I don't _usually_ sleep naked. Once some of the feeling returns to my lower body, in the form of a dull ache (like I've been doing aerobics all night), I sit up and cringe. My abdomen aches all over and I look down and a vague understanding dawns over me as I take in the lovely set of bruises covering my midsection. I hear a faint _Reeeooowww _and look to see my grey-brown furred cat, Ghost, glowering ruefully at me from the shelf across the room. He must be hungry, but I can't get up to feed him. I'm in _way_ too much pain to be bothered to get up and cater to the damned thing (no good for nothing Tabby…). "Ghost—" I try to call to him, but my voice comes out as more of a croak, my vocal cords completely worn down from…That's right, I was ambushed last night.

That should come as more of a shock, but at the moment, I'm too damn tired to freak out. I knew Grigori's men would come to avenge him one day. I just didn't think it would be so soon. Then again, when is the "right time" for murder?

I remember the fight, Krillen hitting me repeatedly in the stomach, strangling me, and then—

**_And then…_**

Just as I'm forced to face reality at last in remembering my_ other_ late-night guest, the sound of heavy footsteps carry down the hall and I watch the open doorway, wide-eyed and with bated breath, as Victor Creed steps into the door way, just as naked as I am, and leans casually against the door frame, a broad grin spreading across his face. My breath catches and my wide eyes travel down, down, down—

Ghost hisses at him, making me jump, and leaps down from the shelf, and bolts under the bed—looking about as scandalized as I should feel—and I squeeze my eyes shut with a weak moan and press my fingertips into the bridge of my nose, shaking my head in denial, wondering how in the hell I survived _that_! What the hell was I _thinking_?! Oh, who am I kidding?

I knew exactly what I was thinking.

"_Ooooohhhkayyyy…._" I sigh heavily, lifting my head as he starts over on slow, sure footing, and again I find my eyes traveling south and I reach over, one hand clasping my sheets to my chest, and throw a pillow at him. He catches it on reflex, raising a brow at me as I snap, "A little discretion, please?"

Creed shakes his head, straightens, and tosses the pillow aside before climbing onto the bed, onto me, saying sarcastically, "Love it when women act like they've never _seen it_ before." He settles himself down on top of me, smirking as Ghost takes the opportunity to flee the room, darting out of the open door in a streak of grey. Poor kitty…"Who knew you could still blush after all _that_?"

"Don't take it personally," I mutter, cheeks blazing, as I reach up a hand to comb my fingers through his hair. So weird…But then, I've had worse...I think. "I'm not one for one-night stands. Especially not after an attempted assassination."

He grins, burrowing into my neck, and murmurs, "You weren't saying that last night."

I roll my eyes at the classic retort, "Yeah, well there wasn't much _talking_ being done last night, if I recall correctly, I'm not entirely sure seeing as I might have a _concussion,_ but…" I gasp, coming to a sudden realization. "I've got to go!" I do a ninja roll and manage to slip out from under Creed's massive form, snatching up a robe from my open dresser drawer and hastily throwing it on.

I pause, bracing myself against the dresser as that now not-so-dull ache hits me full force, blooming across my pelvis and down my legs. My lower back throbs painfully but I straighten up, determined to muscle through it, and, with immense difficulty, cross the room as Victor gets up and starts to follow; a looming shadow in my otherwise, _usually_, empty home. Usually.

"Ugh! What did you _do_?" I groan as I limp into the hallway to get to the bathroom. "Hit me with a train?!" No one has ever made me hurt this badly after sex. Then again, I haven't encountered anyone with Creed's "talents" before, much less _slept_ with them. The soreness between my legs isn't going anywhere any time soon, but I don't have time to sit back and recover. Not when there are questions that need answering and certain people who need ditching. Creed chuckles, shrugging on his jeans in the bedroom (to my relief), all the while calling, "Lucky to be alive, if you ask me!"

"I _didn't!"_ I call back as I go to open the bathroom door. I need to hit the shower before I can even _think_ about going to see Magneto—

I give a girlish shriek and jump back, my hand flying to the front of my robe to cover myself in front of the Russian mobster wriggling in my bathtub. He twists his body to look up at me, blood matted in his black hair and a gun wound deep in his left thigh. It doesn't seem fatal, otherwise he would already be dead. His arms and legs are bound tightly by what appears to be my metal towel hanger and one of my shawls has been cut to shreds and used to gag him. His face is beet red, the veins in his neck pulsing from being cramped in that awkward position, and he immediately starts cursing at me through the gag, grey/blue eyes streaming with rage.

"**_Victor!_"** I call but he's already behind me, chuckling loudly.

"So, you lived through the night," He rumbles at the guy, looping an arm around my waist, causing me to flinch. "Congratulations."

That makes two of us.

"You mean he's been in here _all night_?!" I shriek, realizing the bathroom really isn't that far from the bedroom. He probably heard everything! Just like poor Ghost…"Why? What is he_ doing_ here?!"

Creed shrugs, "Figured he might come in handy."

I sigh, pursing my lips a moment with growing anxiety before I step forward and yank the gag out of the man's mouth, and none too gently. "What is your name?" I ask sternly. He glares at me viciously, positively fuming through gritted teeth, then he emits a stream of harsh words, all in Russian, before ending his angry sentence with one phrase anyone would recognize, "—Filthy American _Whore!_"

Creed growls behind me, taking a threatening step forward, but I'm closer. I grab the back of the man's head and bash his face against the sink with a deafening _Crack! _His body slumps forward, knocked out for the moment (hopefully) and I straighten, running a hand through my tangled hair before saying irritably, "I'm going to take a shower. Throw him in the living room for me, will you?" I toss the unconscious man a glare over my shoulder. "The next time he wakes, it'll be among more _familiar faces."_

…Sometimes, I creep myself out.

But Victor seems utterly unperturbed by my cruelty, and even surprises me by a rough kiss on the mouth before he throws the guy over his shoulder and hauls him out. I wash the sink and the tub off, to rid it of the man's blood, and then I climb in myself. I set the water to "scalding hot" and let it sink into my aching body for a few minutes before assessing last night's damage. Aside from the bruises around my throat and stomach, there are thin claw marks all over my body from one hell of a rough night, including eight particularly deep puncture wounds in my hips. The pain doesn't bother me so much as if fascinates me. After all, I used to do something similar (though much less gruesome) to myself only a few months ago, after that nightmare in Russia.

The door opens and he steps in with me, the water from the shower head dampening his long hair and I move over to make room, wondering why he hasn't—you know—_left_ yet. His arms encircle my waist and I feel his lips graze my shoulder where yet another mark of his rests, and he murmurs, "Bit you pretty hard."

Better my shoulder than my throat.

I shrug, stepping away slightly to toss him a glance over my shoulder. "I'm starting to think you're hazardous to my health." I state bluntly, attempting to make more room for him, but he keeps moving forward, turning me around as he backs me into the corner of the shower. "If you're only realizing this now," He says, "Then I think you might've hit your head harder than you thought."

"You're telling me." Is my sly response. I somehow end up in his arms again, back against the shower wall, legs wrapped around his waist, and he plants his feet firmly on the non-slip mat as the hot water continues to drench us both. Our collective gasps and groans echo off the walls and over the din of the streaming water, but I'm still sore as all hell and, after a while longer than I intend, I pull away. "I have to go." I breathe with immense difficulty.

He groans, his farel eyes still full of lust, "You're killing me."

"_You!?_" I exclaim in disbelief, aware of him still attached to me. "I can hardly _walk!_ Now, come on," I say with more authority, smacking him as I wriggle out of his grasp and touch down on my shower floor once again. "I really need to get ready. Go…eat something." I command, turning away on shaky legs, my ears ringing. "There's food in the fridge."

Food. The food always gets them. He (eventually) consents and leaves, not even bothering to towel off first, and he pauses in the doorway, his gaze rolling over me once, making my face burn as I pull the curtains closer to me, before he grins and stalks off. _Dimples...gotta love the dimples. _Turning the water from "hot" to "excruciating," I ponder my next move. I need to get him out of the house, that's for sure. But how? Who knows how long he'll try to stay and I have no illusions about him being a threat. We're not friends. We're not—

I need to get out of here. Clear my head. And maybe get some help while I'm at it. But who—better yet—_how_ am I going to explain all of this? The part about midnight assault shouldn't be too difficult to explain. But if Creed doesn't beat it or, god forbid, _follows_ me...

No. No, that's not his style.

Like any cat, he'll lose interest; once I take away his toy. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Then again—

A cat only stops playing with a mouse once it's dead. Then again—

_I'm no fucking mouse._

* * *

"So, where're you off to in such a hurry, frail?"

I bristle at the pet name and glare at him, saying as I hastily tie a scarf around my neck, "I've got to file a report to Magneto, find out what to do with _them,_" I gesture to the living room, where dead bodies still litter the floor. "And see about leaving this place." Before he can say anything, I add quickly, bluntly, emotionlessly, "I knew they'd come for me sooner or later. If they found _this_ place…" I sigh, a wave of grief washing over me at the idea that I'll have to leave what had become my personal sanctuary. "It's not safe here anymore."

He remains silent. He knows just as well as I do that this ends here and now. But still, I can't bring myself to just _leave. _ "Thank you, Victor," I find myself saying instead, meeting his eye earnestly. "Really. If—if you hadn't…" I don't want to think about what would have happened. I know what would have happened. I know all too well. "If there's anything—"

By now, I should be used to his kiss but it still comes as a shock to me. "I'll be gone before you get back."

I nod, his hand still in my hair. I clear my throat awkwardly, then glance up at him quickly before looking away again. It feels unreal to me still. It's almost like a weird dream that just doesn't seem real. The only proof are my injuries, the pain between my legs, and this. Whatever '_this'_ is. He steps away, putting a hand at his hip and scoffing silently to himself before walking off without another word. _Well that was easy!_ I stand in my living room for a moment more, allowing myself to fee at ease for just a moment, before I finally head out the door.

Maybe the Voice of Reason will get my head straight.

* * *

The moment the door opens, I bark out, "Why didn't you tell me Sabretooth was here?"

Magneto raises his head, a look of mild surprise on his handsome features, but his lips lift in a faint smile. He gives a slow blink, shaking his head, then sets down the set of paper work in his hands, removes his glasses, and rises from his desk to cross over to me; classy as ever. "I—was unaware his presence would present a problem." Is Erik's stoic reply as he stops a ways before me. He observes me closely, then asks, "_Is_ there a problem?"

"Not with him," I say. I take my small, digital camera out of my bag and show him the pictures I'd taken before I left the house. It still makes my stomach turn to think—To think that I was…while they were…I give a small shiver, crossing my arms when Erik's face pales and he takes the camera from my hands, scrolling through them rapidly with growing urgency and anger. Finally, his eye finds mine, a deadly tone in his voice as he asks, "Humans?"

I nod, making a note of the way his eyes darken at the confirmation. Would he react differently if they had been Mutants? "They worked for Grigori Vahkrov, the mob boss I murdered last winter." I explain vaguely, fighting to keep an even, emotionless tone. "I have one of them being held captive in my home right now." _Not my idea._

"Were you hurt?" Is Erik's next question and I blink and look away from his penetrating stare.

"Nothing I can't handle." I explain shortly, feeling overly-aware of the injuries I've sustained over the last 12 or so hours. "I just thought you ought to know. They must have had one hell of a time getting into Genosha. I wanted to know how you'd like them to leave."

Erik pauses, considering, then takes a deep breath and hands the camera back, saying, "I will send a team up to remove the bodies as well as the prisoner. If you wish, I will decide his fate for you. If not, you may decide what is to be done with him. Until then, I suggest you return here with some of your belongings until it is safe again. I will make accommodations for you in the mean time. I figured it was about time we moved you in where you can better guard my daughter." He adds with a smirk, knowing full-well that's not _at all_ what I want. If fact, I was very opposed to the idea a year ago and I have been since then. I need my space. Separation between work and home. And besides, I'm not sure that Genosha is a home to me anymore.

It just…doesn't feel right to me now.

I nod again, "Alright."

I start to leave but before I can make it out the door, Erik calls gravely, "Who killed them?"

I stop in my tracks; caught. While I try to think of a convincing lie, Magnus continues his little interrogation, saying in a falsely conversational tone, "I know for a fact that you are incapable of taking another life; Human or Mutant. Who then, I wonder, put an end to your attackers?" When I don't answer, he asks solemnly, "Was it Sabretooth?"

_That,_ I can respond to.

I glance sideways at him over my shoulder. He has his paperwork in his hands again, that small smile on his lips, but he keeps his eyes on his papers. He at least has the courtesy not to _further_ humiliate me. I grace him with a truthful answer, "…Yes." But he isn't done questioning me.

"And is he still there?"

I fight to choose the correct answer, "…No."

_Shouldn't be._

"Did he stay the night?"

"He saved my life." I snap, but my voice wavers, appalled at myself. _That_ was a shitty response! What _was_ that!? An_ excuse?_ Seriously?! Quick, add something else to make it worse! "I gave him sanctuary. I felt I owed him that much at least." I say which may or may not be true. I didn't have much money to offer or anything else to recompense him saving my life. Allowing him to stay the night would have only been fair. Everything that came with it however, well—that was just a little something extra. "And it's no concern of yours anyway."

Oops, too defensive. I already blew it.

"It doesn't matter." I say quickly. "I won't be here much longer." Before he can object or ask what I mean, I say, "It isn't safe here anymore."

"You mean to leave us?" Asks Erik in warning, tensing. "After all we've been through?"

You mean, after all you've done for me, right? "Erik, you've been more than accommodating," I say plainly, not in the mood to lie. "And I'm sure you can find someone else to take over for me. I know Mystique has been pinning for her former position at the head of the T.M.I.D. and the Sparrow has never objected to watching Lorna. I—I would do more harm than good here. If the Bastard can find me _here—"_

"You think the Bastard had something to do with this?" Interrupts Magneto, made impatient by my self-dismissal from his task force.

"I _know_ he did."I say firmly, cutting him a glare. I'm not backing down on this. **I'm going.** "One of the men trying to kill me said as much. 'The Bastard sends his regards…'" I echo the man's parting words, shuddering at what they suggest. "He knows how to find me and I don't think he'll stop after one failed assault. In fact," I add, more to myself than Magneto. "I don't think he expected his men to succeed at all."

Erik thinks on this a moment, then asks, "You still have no idea who this man is? Or why he's after you?"

"No," I murmur, though a new suspicion has slowly begun to infect me like a virus, hovering, growing in the back of my mind. But for now, it's only a suspicion. "But I intend to find out. I need to get to MRD HQ. I need to find that list that I'm on and find out about the Bastard," I say resolutely, glad to have a plan for once. I turn to Erik, vowing earnestly, "Only then will it be safe to return."

Erik studies me and I can tell immediately that he's thinking about what to do with me. "Come with us on one last run." He says. "Stark Industries. I don't have time to fill Mystique in on strategy and you are the only one I trust to successfully carry out my mission."

Bullshit. But how can I refuse?

"Deal." I say shortly, and begin to head off to see about speaking with Tarina. But before I go, I hear this, "He died last night, you know." I stop in my tracks, a question on my lips, but before I can voice my confusion, Erik says a single name, "Carhart."

"What?" I whisper, horrified. The prisoner I'd helped capture nearly a year ago...dead? But how? He's been in solitary the whole time!

"No one knows how or who did it." Erik continues, speaking objectively, like it has nothing to do with him. "A few blood samples has been taken to our labs to discover the cause of his mysterious and (quite sudden) death, but until then the circumstances remain unclear." He gives a false smile, saying in what I'm supposed to believe is an empathetic tone, "I thought you should know."

I pause, breathing heavily as my mind works at what to think. Could it be Grigori's men came for Carhart? Was Carhart working for Grigori's men? But that would mean…

"Thank. You." I mutter, hightailing it for the jail house, and sure enough, when I go through Carharts record files, history, birth certificates and I.D.'s, I find that he was born in none other than Russia, Vanhouven under the name Richev. Carhart wasn't even his real name. But this list that they have me on was with the MRD; not the Mob. Could they be connected? Or was I discovered because Carhart happened to see my name and report back to—to whoever is calling the shots now. Whether that is the Bastard, remains to be seen. For now, I have one target set in mind: Senator Kelly and the MRD.

It looks like I'm going back to Bayville.

* * *

**Relax, I will be writing again soon! Until then, I will be taking all questions, suggestions, and comments and hopefully I can make this fic even better than the first two. Thanks for reading. **

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	4. Chapter 4 I Did

**On ward, Hooooo! Alright, let's get this ball rolling. Thanks for reading and Enjoy;D **_(Disclaimer:IdonotowntheX-Mennordoiownitsaffiliates)_

Chapter 4: I Did

"You didn't."

"I—What?"

"You _didn't!_"

"I didn't—I didn't say anyth—"

"_You did!_" Exclaims Tarina, pacing before me like an indignant puppy who's just discovered she's scheduled to be neutered. I roll my eyes, shifting uncomfortably where I stand under her penetrating, accusing glare. I really wish I knew the extent of her magical guessing powers but right now, I just need to get this out. I _need _her advice. She's always had a way of knowing exactly what I should do in a tough spot and she's never led me wrong yet. "_Yes,_ alright?!" I scream finally, deciding it wouldn't be fair to lie to her. "Yes, I did. Now will you just _listen _to me for a second? I was attacked last night by the Bastard."

"Yes, I heard." She sighs, sitting heavily in the cushioned love seat of her hidden lounge. Today the incense flavor is vanilla and firewood. Real soothing. "What happened?" She asks reluctantly. It doesn't take a mind reader or feeling-teller (whatever the hell she is) to tell that's the last thing she wants to know right about now.

"If you _must_ know…" I say snidely, pacing in front of her slowly as I relay the details of my late night attack from who-done-it to weapons used to who I think is pulling the strings. And now, the moment she's been waiting for… "—but before he could finish the job, Creed showed up out of nowhere and killed him. Killed them all—"

"And then you jumped his bones." She says without missing a beat. "_Really,_ Liz!?" She exclaims. _"That's_ your excuse?!"

"_Excuse?!"_ Outrage._ "_I—I didn't—use my almost-murder as-as an excuse to-to-to…" Lost, my words sputter out of control, leaving me sounding like an irate, blubbering fool. I stop, collecting myself, then say, "I didn't _ask_ your opinion, you know. I need your _help_. _**Advice. **_Not a lecture!"

"Have you told Tabitha?"

"I—" My words catch as Tarina's words sink in and throw me for a loop. I hadn't even _thought_ about telling her or _anyone_ for that matter. "_No,_ and I don't intend to!" I snap. "It's none of her business and none of yours! Who I choose to screw is _my_ choice and I don't have to justify myself to you or anyone else! _**I **_can hardly believe it myself." I breathe a shaky sigh, sitting heavily in a plush chair by the coffee table with my elbows on my knees and my hands knitted before me. I inhale deeply, trying to calm myself, to push away the creeping defensiveness and ever-growing lament, and say steadily, "It—_may_ have been a mistake," I consent, ignoring Tarina's incredulous eyebrows, "But it's done and I won't sit here and be made to feel bad about myself." I add with a pointed, reprehensive look at Tarina, who looks away, embarrassed. "At least I have one less enemy on my back."

"You don't know that." Says Tarina quietly, but I merely shake my head, saying, "He's saved my life more times than any man I've ever known." She opens her mouth to bring up a point, but I cut her off immediately, saying, "Azazel has betrayed me more times than I'd care to admit. Are you to tell me I can trust _him?_ No, of course not." I say quickly when she opens her mouth to give the obvious response to a rhetorical question. "I only trust people who _earn_ it. I think I can trust Creed not to stab me in the back or kill me in my sleep. And I think I can trust _you._ Am I right in that assumption? Or is placing my faith—my life—in_ your_ hands just another one of my infinite mistakes?"

I know I've made many in the past—most of them because I put my trust in the wrong people—but if I don't trust _anyone _I may as well recluse myself altogether in some godforsaken village somewhere and be done with it. What's the point in life if you can't trust anyone? If you don't give anyone the benefit of the doubt? I don't want to become that person. Not when there is still so much at stake.

Tarina thinks about this for a while, studying me closely, before finally conceding and replying tiredly, "No. No, I'm—I'm here for you. And I always will be. I don't approve, but then again, I don't think _you_ do either." She adds severely before quickly saying, "But I get it. Just—be careful, alright? You mean a lot to me; to Shay, to Aaron, and more Mutants than you know. I don't want to see you get hurt again."

I sigh jadedly, and, with one hand, remove the scarf tied tightly around my throat to reveal the dark bruises Krillen left in my skin. I _need_ her to understand something. Her eyes fall on the marks and widen slightly, a pain-stricken look pulling her age-worn face taut as her eyes take in only a fraction of the wounds I've sustained from the Bastard's first real attack. "He won't stop, Tarina." I tell her. "Not until I'm dead. I came close last night. I was down. Krillen's hands were around my throat and I was blacking out. And had Creed not shown up when he did, I wouldn't be speaking with you as I am. I'm going to _keep_ getting hurt if I don't _find_ this guy and_ stop_ him. But I need_ your_ help to do that." I tie the scarf around my throat with tremulous hands. She remains silent, watching me, until I finally look up, eyes pleading, and ask, "Will you help me?"

Tarina gets up abruptly, moving to one of the closets with a sure stride. I watch curiously as she removes a vial from her cabinet and crosses over to me, removing my scarf once more as she says, "You have th' right idea. You know what you need to do. But you lack resources." She tells me, dabbing the oily contents of the vial on my throat. "You'll need help; _guidance._ I can't give you that. Not while I'm living here in Genosha. Erik will be watching, listening. He has ears and eyes everywhere. You're going to need the help of the_ X-Men_, and you need to get as far away from Magneto as possible, _and soon._ He'll try to keep you, as you well know." She sighs, sitting back as she caps the vial once more. I don't feel any different but maybe the vial is meant to clear the bruising. "You ought to visit the healers as well." Tarina says, getting up to put away the vial once more. "With a limp like _that,_ you won't make it back on your next task."

"I'll put it on my list." I say, then look up, turning to meet her eye, and murmur, "Thank you, Tarina. For everything. And—for understanding." I chew on my lip, then murmur with a slightly chuckle, "I—I don't even know what I was _thinking_—"

"You weren't. But then," Tarina smirks to herself at some inside-joke and says, "We've all been there at some time or another."

I turn in my seat, watching her with a mischievous glint in my eye, and then ask, "Uuuummmm, who, where, when and how?"

"It was a long time ago."

"Aaaand?"

"You…remember Gambit?"

"No way!" I gasp, staring at her wide eyed.

"It—it didn't really go anywhere—"

"_No way!"_ I repeat excitedly before erupting in a bout of laughter, thoroughly enjoying the flush of embarrassment creeping over Tarina's face. "Well?!"

"Well what?"

"You have to tell me _everything!_"

"Wait-wait," Tarina interrupts. "Don't you have a mystery to solve here? We don't have time for this!"

"You're right, you're right." I actually have to get home right now and take care of my clean up dilemma. Erik said he would send someone over. I'd like to be there when they get there so there won't have to be a _second_ break in, not that it really matters anymore. Then, I need to prepare for our next assault on Stark Industries. "I have to go." I start to leave, then think better of it and say in warning, "This stays between us."

Tarina studies me, pursing her lips in the corner of her mouth before saying reluctantly, "Always." I nod once then leave for the healers. They do what they can and I add nine new scars to my collection, only these are all relatively thin and almost impossible to detect unless one looks close enough. But even then, most people won't recognize the claw and teeth marks unless I show them. The other cuts and bruises have dissipated to mere red marks and tender welts. Next stop: The Cottage by the Sea. Dread wells up inside me as I head home.

My bed's been made. It's time to lay in it.

* * *

I walk the path to my home, escorted by the Sparrow (who met me on the way over), and we both approach cautiously as we journey closer to my home. The sandy beachfront that serves as my front lawn appears to be littered with large pieces of debris. As we grow closer, however, we discover that the debris is, in fact, bodies. The bodies of the men who tried to murder me last night.

And they're not alone.

Some of Magneto's other guards are here as well. Iron Helm is currently helping load some of the bodies in Magneto's metal, travel spheres and Wanda is flying some of the loaded ones back to HQ for inspection. I watch apprehensively as people venture in and out of my house, but, so far I can see, there are no signs of Creed anywhere.

_He's gone. _

_Ha! __**Yes!**_

_Oh, my God that is such a relief!_

I give an audible sigh/laugh of relief and Sparrow turns to me curiously, asking if I'm alright (I guess laughing at the scene of a crime isn't exactly normal behavior) and I nod, saying, "I'm just…glad to be alive, I guess!"

Suddenly, Tabitha is whooping down upon me from seemingly out of nowhere along with an anxious-looking Dimitri—who has to run to catch up—and I find myself smothered in her now-curly, brown-streaked hair and feathery, white moth-wings as she cries, "I was so worried! We had no idea if you were alive or not. No one would tell us anything!" She pulls back, choking back tears and I'm forced to look into her scarred face, facing the reality of what I've done directly as she practically sobs, "Why didn't you tell anyone where you went!?"

"I—I was in shock. I'm sorry." I say automatically, looking away as Dimitri wraps his arms around me, murmuring, "It must have been awful. They found blood everywhere. Even in your bed! How did you make it out of there alive?"

I study them both closely, chewing on the answer that I hope is right, then say, "I had some help. A lot of help actually." I add, and I feel my neck grow hot under Tabitha's green-eyed stare. I keep forgetting she's not a little girl anymore. She's twenty five years old, and while I'm technically older than her, she's still got a good four years more experience than I do, seeing as I "died" when I was 20 years old.

Oh, how time flies!

"From who?" Is Tabitha's next question.

Damn.

I sigh, looking around as if someone will come and save me, but I figure there's little point in making something up. And besides, if the truth get's out, it's better to have _one_ lie under my belt than two that I'll have to explain later. "Victor Creed. He saved my life. I don't know why." I add quickly when Tabitha's already-bright green eyes light up with rage. After all, it was Creed who clawed her face only a few months ago; Creed who chased us in the woods when she was only a child; Creed whom she believed had killed me because no one had the heart to speak the truth...So there's_ that._ "But he did and I'm here now." I pause, watching all of their faces fight to register the information they've received before I say, "I'll take your questions now."

And boy do they have questions. Many, many questions.

And I answer them all, up until the unmentionable point. This is where the lie kicks in.

Apparently, after saving my life, Creed just up and left (having nothing better to do), and I passed out in my bed (hence the blood) until the next morning, when I went to go see Magneto. And that's the end of it. Of course, none of it is true (well not **all** of it). But they all seem to buy it. Even Tabitha, who is the most skeptical of all of us. The only one who I have doubts about is the Sparrow but if she wants to question my story (which she shouldn't since she has no idea who Creed even is) she gives no indication of such, and simply states, "It is lucky you had a friend on your side where we could not be."

"He's no friend." Snaps Tabitha, her pale face flushing with anger. Her wings give a violent flutter and she folds them against her shoulders to keep them from flaring out. "He's just a wild animal who got bored and knew he owed you for saving his ass."

"Eh, listen," I say somewhat awkwardly, realizing she could be right. I mean, I _did _spare his life back in Sinister's labs (mostly because I simply couldn't bring myself to kill him) _and _I helped him escape waaay back when Stryker had us both on lock down on the Island. I suppose he _did_ owe me after all. But then—he kind of repaid that by helping me help him escape both times, right? Except when he went nuts and tried to kill me a few times, but then I tried to kill_ him_ too. And I succeeded _at least_ twice now. So who owes who? Or are we even now?…

My head hurts.

"Listen," I repeat, more for myself than them. (They weren't even talking.) "All I know is that it's not safe here anymore. So I'd advise everyone to steer clear of—well, of _me_ for a while. Just until I know what's going on."

"What will you do?" Asks the Sparrow, her feathers ruffling under the sea breeze, and I turn my gaze back to my home woefully, wishing I didn't have to leave but knowing I have no other choice. "I'm going to find the man responsible. I'm going to go back to the X-Men. But first," I start towards my home, intending to collect my things and prepare for the raid; my _final_ raid of Kelly's Sentinel Project and Magneto's data files. That's right, I'm going after Magneto, as well. "I'm going to do my job."

* * *

_**So who owes who? Should lives be counted based on debt? Or are we all just fighting for the same cause? Find out in the Next installment of The New Threat. Until Next Time!**_

_**~THESCRIBE!;D**_


	5. Chapter 5 All For One and

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my words and OCs. Thank you and Enjoy;D**

Chapter 5: All For One and One For—Ah, Fuck It…

Something's off.

Something is definitely off about tonight's' raid. No one has addressed it, but everyone knows this is my last raid on the T.M.I.D. Maybe they're upset, maybe they're glad (I know Mystique is), but either way, I'm going to complete this mission and then I'm going to hightail it off this rock ASAP.

"You know what to do." I say shortly, smoothing on my mask as I address our little group of mercernaries: Ironhelm, Domino, Pyro, the Sparrow, Blink, Brutus, and Charm (Mystique wasn't able to attend tonight, it would seem, and Colossus quit these missions months ago. Haven't seen him since). I don't have to say much past this point. Our system is simple: Infiltration, Security, Extraction, Cleanup, Getaway.

_Infiltration:_ The Sparrow does a onceover of the deck of the ship, ensuring that we won't run into unnecessary problems on the way. Then, Blink teleports us onto the deck on separate trips. I take point with Domino, scanning the ship for added guards and securing the Captain's cabin, which brings us to phase 2—

_Security:_ While Domino and I are securing the deck, Brutus (our new strongman), Pyro, and Ironhelm secure the lower decks, gathering and immobilizing—but not killing—the hostages within. Charm stays behind with Blink to help move the equipment once the hostages are subdued.

That's the plan anyway. And phase one, so far, seems to be going well enough. Domino and I manage to get to the Captain's cabin, moving swiftly and silently along as we do so. It is crucial that the Captain does not alert the rest of the ship that there is any danger. Stealth is imperative and the attack must be simultaneous on all sides to minimize casualties and optimize efficiency.

So far so good.

That is, until we get_ inside_ the Captain's cabin only to discover—

_No one is here._

I exchange a single glance with Domino and her look confirms what I suspect right off the bat. Turning to my com I say quickly and clearly. "Abort, abort. The mission's been compromised. I repeat: Abort, the mission has been compromised." I turn on my heel, Domino ready in my stead, only to find our path blocked by what appears, at first, to be Ironhelm. A giant, metal frame fills the doorway, lit up by glowing, white eyes, and his mask is nearly identical to the one Rory wears. Then he speaks, "You know, it's just rude to show up at a party if you're not invited. I should know."

I know it should be obvious, but I'd just like to point out that _that's_ not Rory. Just so we're clear.

"What?" I ask smoothly, waving Domino down when she poises a gun over my right shoulder on reflex. Receiving the silent order, as we've done countless times before, she flicks her thumb and sets her gun to stun. We don't want to hurt_ this one._ We've just hit the jack pot. The source of one of Kelly's benefactors. I'm so excited that, for the time, I forget that I won't be a part of this team after tonight. Now, all that matters is this capture. "I thought a playboy, millionaire, philanthropist would appreciate a couple a' party crashers. I guess not everyone can live up to their reputations."

"Ouch," Replies Tony Stark, his suit clomping hollow and threatening on the wooden floor of the smallish cabin. "That was low."

"Mm," I shrug. "I've seen lower." It only takes a moment. Domino shoots him full in the face with her stun gun, but the ray bounces off of him, blinding—but not injuring—him, and buys me just enough time to leap forward and phase him through the floor and down into the belly of the ship, where our second group of infiltrators may still be. We fall through the floor, but just before hitting the ground, I focus every ounce of my concentration on my most recently developed skill: Levitation. I don't leave him enough time to recover, however, and I drop him on his metal ass before jumping back myself, touching down on the ground lightly as I draw my broad swords and assume my Deadlocke stance. "Yield." I command, watching tensely as he rises with an exaggerated groan. Not as impressive as I've heard. He almost seems…lazy. Like he didn't even want to _be_ here.

"Sorry," Stark replies shortly, dusting his metal legs off with a metallic, scraping sound. "Don't negotiate with terrorists. It's—kind of an American thing."

"So, I've heard." I grunt back. "You have no idea who we are, do you?"

"That's what I came here to find out, lady." He replies, putting up his hands. "You've been stealing a lot of my stuff. I want to know why. And—" He adds with a shrug. "To put a stop to it, I guess. To tell you the truth," Ironman states honestly, approaching slowly, calmly, as he says, "I don't wanna fight you. I just want some _ack—!_"

I continue to stare expectantly at the space Ironman used to be, saying to myself, "Some what?" Before turning around to watch the fight between Ironman, Ironhelm and Pyro ensue. Even with the distraction, however, I never once drop my guard, and I hear one of the crew members approaching behind me long before he takes a swing at me. I lash out with my swords and catch him across the chest and face with the flat of my blades before kicking him mid-stumble and poising one of the blades at his throat. All in just six seconds. I've gotten faster. But not deadlier.

"Sparrow." I call into my com, staring into the crewman's dark brown, unwavering eyes without blinking, but Sparrow's already starting towards me. Once she's at my side, I say promptly, "Lock this one up. We're moving forward with our plans. I want Domino, Pyro, and Brutus to secure this area. _No one_ escapes." I leave the crewman in the Sparrow's care and hurry off to check on the status of our infiltration group with Mr. Ironman but once I finally discover them deep in the belly of the cargo hold, I find I couldn't have found him at a better time.

"_Stop!"_ I call out, seething as I race over to where Ironhelm stands, preparing to shoot a disarmed Tony Stark at point blank. Where the hell are the others?! Oh…that's right. Probably securing the rest of the crew. Hm. Good work? "How many times do we have to go over this Helm?" I snap, forcibly lowering his arm with my own before tossing Stark a pointed look, saying, "We don't kill our own kind."

"Ah, what makes you think I'm one of _you,_ Miss…?" Tony Stark prompts suavely, completely unperturbed for someone who was almost shot in the face just now.

"Nighshade," I say shortly. "And I know a survivor when I see one."

"A _survivor?"_ Stark repeats sarcastically, glancing around with a smug smirk. "Am I on TV right now or are you just hitting on me?"

I scoff silently at him, amused, then get down on one knee before him, asking, "Do you know who we are?" I hear Ironhelm snort with laughter and correct myself, asking, "_What _we are?"

"Mercenaries? Pirates? Bandits? Am I getting close?"

"We're Mutants, Stark." Is my blunt reply. "And we've had to fight _every day_ since our Mutations first manifested just to survive. While you and your _Avenger _friends continue to play the hero, oblivious to what's going on around you!" It infuriates me, to think they have it so easy while the rest of us struggle just to stay alive.

"You don't know anything about me." Replies Stark, suddenly sobering up. "And don't pretend we're on the same level here, 'cause we're _not._ You're just a silly little band of thieves, using their gifts to hurt innocent people when you should be protecting them!"

"Another thing we have in common, it would seem." I say, narrowing my eyes in anger. "Do you have any idea what your weapons are doing to our people? What Kelly and Trask plan to _do_ with your tech? Do you even _care_?" When he remains silent, actually listening to what I'm saying, I continue, saying urgently, "There is a _war_ underfoot, Mr. Stark, and if this tech falls into the wrong hands, we will _all _lose!"

Stark sighs heavily, pursing his lips in thought before giving a boyish smirk, saying, "Perhaps we ought to talk this over. _Say,_ over coffee?"

"Yes, I think we should talk this over." I agree. "But not here. You're coming back to Genosha with us." I stand, phasing a hand inside his immobilized suit and dragging him out. Ironhelm steps forward immediately and cuffs the millionaire's hands behind his back, muttering something about "payback," and I glance around, looking for the others, but everyone must still be getting the other hostages on the life boats, as is standard in these missions. "Let's move." I say, unsettled. "We've got more cargo to load."

"Jarvis," Says Stark casually to seemingly no one in particular. "I think it's time to call in for back up."

I frown at him in confusion and am about to ask what he's blabbering on about when the now-empty suit responds with, "Very good, sir. I was wondering when you would say so. "

"What are you—?" My question is cut off by a high-pitched whistle emanating from the suit itself. It rings in my ears and reaches far and wide. A summoning beacon. I urge the Sparrow and Ironhelm along quickly, saying with growing urgency. "Go! Get him out of here. I want him off this boat _now!_"

"Sir!" Calls Domino over the com, an urgency in her voice that I've never heard before.

"What is it, D?" I ask, and our group stops to listen, Stark still in tow. "What's going on?"

"I can't—we're—ugh! We're under attack!" She shouts over a din of gunfire cracking in the background. They must be on the deck.

"By who?" I bark, holding up a hand to halt the others when they start up. We don't know what we're dealing with yet. "_By who?_" I repeat fiercely when I receive no immediate reply. Then Domino resurfaces, her voice sounding distant and hardly audible over the gunshots still being fired on deck. "Don't know!" She calls back. "He's too fast. **_Ach!_ **You've got to get up here now! Brutus is missing and Pryo's out. It's just me and now. This guy could ruin_ everything!_" She gives a sudden shout in alarm and the com falls silent.

I pause, thinking, then say, "I'm going up. Carry out the mission but _don't_ take anything. We've got everything we need already." I add, cutting a glare at Tony Stark, who shrugs with that boyish smirk in spite of being well into his thirties.

Concentrating solely on levitation and intangibility, I head up on the deck and pause. No one is here. "Domino!" I call into my com, turning in a wide circle, looking for signs of life or a struggle, but all I see is darkness. It's about one in the morning after all. "Where in the hel—" Something hits me, hard, and sends me plummeting to the ground faster than I can retaliate. But the past year of training has made me more than proactive. I turn intangible and, rather than slam into the ground, I go through it only to rise a moment later, standing directly behind my attacker.

My target.

A flash of blades. A clash of steel colliding with steel. A spark lighting the darkness. Our blades meet only inches from our faces respectively and I meet his eye for just a brief moment before breaking away, panting heavily as my heart pounds in my chest and my limbs grow cold. I stare at him a moment in shock, blades up and ready, as we size each other up, before a wicked smirk curls my lips and sends a bout of laughter bubbling up into my throat. He doesn't recognize me.

But I'd know Azazel anywhere.

"You shouldn't bother with petty disguises," I murmur, altering my voice slightly to a grittier tone in the hope of fooling him a bit longer. Most of my face is covered thanks to this mask and my hair has been tied in a high pony, a look he's never seen. Oh, this is so _exciting!_ Tonight is just _full _of surprises! Maybe I can catch this one, too! Wouldn't that be fun? "They'll find out what you are sooner or later."

He's trying to pass for human. Why else would he be wearing an image inducer?

"How do you know me?" He asks, pacing around me stealthily, but I match his pace evenly, using the swift techniques of the Deadlocke Tango to not only match his footing but counter it, moving him where I want to go rather than allowing myself to be forced into a corner. His pale blue eyes narrow in the dim light of the deck menacingly, but I am immune to his Russian Death Stare. I've seen it too many times to be scared of it anymore.

I stop pacing abruptly and turn my swords razor's-edge out with the flick of my wrists and murmur, "Come and find out."

He lunges for me, somewhat predictably, and I avoid him easily, ducking with one of my blades raised to deflect the one coming down directly above my head and as well as the one headed for my midsection. Moving quickly, I leap back and begin twirling my blades in my hands, rotating my wrists to swing them threateningly so that he has to keep his distance to avoid being hit. He glares at me, a hint of shock in his brightly lit eyes.

"You're good." I comment in my raspy undertone, not lying on that account. "But not as good as you_ think_ you are."

He lunges again, acting faster now, and I have to move just as quickly, practically on my toes, just to keep from getting hit. His blades curve before his forearms while mine protrude outward, making them better for offense while his are more defensive. For a while, this works to my advantage.

Until he gets smart.

Knowing he has to disarm me to win, he sheaths one of his swords, drops down on the ground and sweeps out one leg to trip me up, but I manage to catch myself again before I fall, losing one sword in the process. I lose the second one when he l entraps my remaining sword in the gap between his blade and forearm and rises, hitting me full in the face with his free arm.

Angered and kind of hurt, I release my own remaining broad sword and latch onto his instead, phasing it out of his grasp and throwing it overboard with an angered grunt. I stagger back, leaning against the rail of the ship as I feel my cheek, which has begun to pulse where he hit me with his god damned elbow. He watches, straightening with a haughty smirk that seems to say, "now, whatcha gonna do?" and I start towards him at a run—no longer afraid now that we're both unarmed—rasping, "That wasn't very nice!"

But just as he raises his fists to meet my attack, I dive into a roll and phase through him, landing on one knee (similar to the way Pyro did so long ago) whilst retrieving one of my fallen sword. Still on one knee, I throw out my arm, catching him across the calf with my back-swing and slice a nice clean cut through his suit and flesh. He staggers as I rise and I laugh out loud, not bothering to alter my voice any longer as I say happily, "There! Now we're even!"

It's as if he's seeing me for the very first time.

"E—" The sound of my name being called is lost as the sound of my own head hitting the deck fills my ears and leaves me dazed. My hair pools around me where the band securing my pony tail had been ripped out (along with some of my hair) and I turn, panting heavily, to find Big Boy Brutus crouching over me with something I haven't seen in almost a year hovering just above my neck: An inhibitor collar. (Huh…so that's where he went!) I throw my legs out and use the force of my boot meeting his face to propel my body back and over into a reverse summersault so that I can get away in time before Brutus's giant hand can close around my throat. He lunges for me, his reptilian hands flailing out for me, and I feel hands fasten on my upper arms and yank me just out of his reach.

"Thanks, babe." I sneer at Azazel, shrugging out of his grasp with a wink and the click of my teeth at him before returning my attention to my comrade with a mix of rage and bewilderment, "What the fuck was that, Brutus?!" I shout, approaching the eight foot iguana as he rises to full height and glares down at me, collar still in hand. "Tell me Kelly's got you under some kind of mind-control."

A gun cocks just behind me and I grow still, glancing out of the corner of my eye to see that I'm being held at gunpoint by Domino. Ironhelm touches down just behind her, still carting a very confused-looking Tony Stark and Pyro approaches from the other side, flamethrowers poised at Azazel, who has already drawn his remaining blade from his back holster in defense. We're surrounded.

By my own comrades.

"Sorry, love." Says Pyro, giving me an unfortunate shrug, but the smile on his lips tells me he's not all too sorry, after all. I guess that's what happens when you tell a guy you're "working on yourself at the moment" as a means to say, "This isn't going anywhere." Eh, you live and you learn. Pyro winks flirtatiously, setting his flamethrowers ablaze, and says in that Australian twang, "It's just business."

I shake my head slowly, having put it all together, "I should have known. And to think," I say, turning to Domino with a look of disgust. "We were just starting to become friends. I guess it was too good to be true."

"Should've thought of that before you decided to skip out on us, Shade." Grunts Ironhelm, shifting a wriggling Stark in his grasp. The millionaire looks around, putting it all together as well, then says bombastically, "Oh! This is a coo, right? A mutiny! Oh, the drama…"

"Can it, Stark." Snaps Ironhelm.

"Oooh, that's funny." Croons Ironman. "You're a funny guy, you know that?"

"Shut up!"

"Alright enough of this!" I snap, looking around. "Some of you are still missing. Where's the Sparrow?" I ask, hoping, _praying,_ she'll be on my side here, but a womanly laugh from above answers my question just before the Sparrow touches down roughly before me, a cruel glint in her bright green eyes as she folds her wings, and I watch in dismay as those eyes transform from their warm, protective green to a fierce, malicious yellow. "Of course," I say, shaking my head as Mystique snatches the collar out of Brutus's hands and starts toward me, pausing to listen languidly as I mutter, "What else could I suspect from a lying, scheming _witch _like you?"

Mystique scoffs at that, "You were a fool to think you could just _leave_ us. I would have thought you'd learn from your mistakes. But I see you'll just keep throwing your life away until someone finally takes it. Now if they could just _succeed_ for once!" She winks, turning her gaze to Azazel, and says loudly, "You can drop the charade, honey. You're not fooling anyone with that get-up."

"Azazel?" Tony Stark murmurs, watching the Mutant behind me with wide eyes. "You're one of them?"

I don't bother to look but I know Azazel is nodding his head in that oh, so special way he was of hardly moving but _somehow _making sense anyway. Tony, surprising us all, cracks a grin and exclaims, "Why didn't you tell me?! We could've gotten into some serious antics, the two of us! By the way," He whispers, as if none of us can hear him as he says, _"You're a terrible body guard."_

"_You _are a terrible super hero." Counters Azazel, actually joking around with someone for once. "Do you _ever_ stop getting into trouble?"

Again, Stark shrugs with a grin, "What can I say? I'm just that popular."

"Sooo," I say, trying to get the focus back here for a moment. We're still kind of in danger. "Are we doing this or what? It's late, I'm tired, and I've still gotta pack for Bayville."

"You are coming back?" Asks Azazel from behind me. I turn to Azazel with a faint shrug, saying, "Soon as I get off this boat."

"You're not going anywhere." Snaps Mystique, raising the collar.

"Come on, Misty," I chortle, about ten seconds away from giving her the bird. "You _know _you're not gonna put that on me. You blew it. Let's just finish the job and I'll go to Magneto of my own free will, how about that?"

"Sounds fair to me."

"Shut it, Domino." Mystique hisses angrily at the other blue-clad Mutant, already lowering her guns. I give her a grateful smile, knowing she really has no choice in all of this. She returns the smile. "Don't try to play favorites. You're in this just as much as us."

"I-I'm not." Offers Stark meekly, still trapped in Ironhelm's clutches.

Mystique nearly loses it, "Get. Him. Off. This. Ship!"

"Really?" I interrupt, thoroughly enjoying myself here. All this banter, it's just so refreshing! "You do realize you're following _my_ order, right?"

Mystique opens her mouth to speak when Azazel beats her to it, saying calmly, "I am afraid I cannot allow you to take him anywhere. We can all leave here peacefully, but the decision is yours. _Please, Raven,"_ Azazel nearly whispers, staring intently into her eyes. Her mouth wavers. Even now, he can still turn her weak...That bitch. "_Do not do this."_

She's dropped her guard.

Now's my chance.

Taking a seriously dirty shot (made possible by what I'll admit to be my own jealous monster at hearing him use _that _sweet tone with _her_ of all people), I punch her dead in the face, breaking her nose on impact, then barrel right through her, phasing through Brutus to retrieve my fallen swords. Domino hesitates, but not Pyro. He takes a shot at Azazel but the Mutant teleports away, leaving Domino right in his line of fire. She only manages to escape a firey death by taking a swim. I on the other hand, have a very big problem to contend with.

Brutus is an armored Mutant, making him difficult to knock out or knock over. When I kicked him earlier he hardly felt it but it distracted him long enough for me to get away. Now, I have to get him off this ship if I am to escape. I can't swim back to Genosha and Blink and Charm are in on this too, meaning I can't rely on them to help me. This ship is my ride.

And there are four seriously bad Mutants still onboard it.

"Was it easy, Brute?" I ask, pacing to the right in the hopes of getting him near the rails so I can knock him over. He doesn't budge, but follows me, blocking my path so I can't coerce him into going where I need him to go. "Did you even have _second thoughts_ about betraying me?"

"Of course," Replies Brutus right off, dropping his tough-guy charade for a moment to say earnestly, "But I've kinda got a good thing going for me. I mean, if I get kicked out of Genosha, where else would I go? What would I _do?_" He glances around. Mystique is still trying to stem the bleeding in her nose and Pyro and Ironhelm are currently trying to catch Azazel without harming one another or losing their captive. If they were smart, they'd just call Blink to teleport them back to the dingy. But they're still convinced that they can catch us.

Idiots.

"I understand, B-Man." I say, and I mean it. There's only so much you can do to survive. "You could've refrained from the hair-pulling though." I add, rubbing the sore spot on my head woefully and he looks down, embarrassed. "You know I hate that. Now, attack me so I can get the hell out of here."

_Hm, getting him off my ship wasn't as hard as I'd thought it would be._ I observe, watching him flail in the waters below with a small wave. All it took was to catch him while his weight was shifted on one foot and I managed to send him tumbling over the side of the ship right after Domino. I don't think either of them will try to follow, but now I have to worry about Blink coming to pick them up and—by default—me as well. I look around quickly for the others. It would seem Azazel has already taken care of Pyro but Ironhelm, the bugger that he is, continues to fight, all the while attempting to hold onto his prize and capture the teleporting Mutant dancing just outside of his reach. At first, I'm confused as to why Azazel hasn't just teleported the guy off the ship already, but then I realize that he's still trying to save Tony Stark.

He teleports in the air just above Helm and reaches a hand down to touch Stark's shoulder, but just before he makes it, Ironhelm swings out his arm and catches the Mutant across the chest with a metal-plated forearm, and swats Azazel out of the sky and clear across the deck where he slams into the side of the Captains' Cabin with a deafening crash. If there are still Humans roaming this vessel, they're doing a fine job of hiding or just not giving a fuck here, because I haven't seen one crew member since all of this started. _Is anyone even steering this ship?!_

Anyway, Azazels' swattening strikes a chord with me, and I find myself rushing Ironhelm blindly, swords flashing on either side of me, but before I even make it ten feet from where I started, Mystique is suddenly there, bum-rushing me from the side and knocking me overboard with one, clumsy thrust that sends her down with me. I fall a short ways before throwing out my arm along with one of my grappling hooks that I have hidden away in the cuffs around my wrists (Harpoons, I like to call them). It latches onto the railing that I was just thrown over, and I retract the line just as my legs sink into the icy waters below. There's a splash nearby, and I look to see Mystique thrashing in the waters a foot or so away.

I make it back to the railing just before she latches onto my ankle and just begin to pull myself over when a pair of metal hands grab hold of me and yank me the rest of the way up. A fist connects with my jaw before my feet even touch the deck and I go limp momentarily, dazed with the pain of it as it blooms red hot through my entire lower jaw, and I almost don't here it when Ironhelm mutters, "Had that comin' a long time, miss lady."

"Aww," I purr sarcastically, my voice sounding thick due to the welling of blood in my mouth, "Still mad that I didn't let you kill innocent people? _Poor baby!_"

_**Whap!**_

My head snaps back and meets the deck just as the power-inhibiting collar clasps around my throat, and my remaining energy drains instantly, leaving me at the mercy of the metal merc kneeling menacingly over my moaning frame. "Nothing personal," Growls Ironhelm, grasping the front of my suit with one hand and pulling back his fist. "Just busi—aaahhhhhh!"

"Forget about these?" I grunt over the sounds of Rory's screams as he tries desperately to pull the electric-charged barb out of his chest plate as it electrocutes him. I disconnect the wire and try to scramble out from under him, but I can't get away fast enough and his hand latches onto my jaw, sending the relatively low—but still painful—voltage surging through my own body as well. Luckily, the barb loses its charge before either of us can pass out or worse, but I'm still in danger. I turn on my stomach weakly and make to run away, but he tackles me down with all his weight and pins my shoulders with his forearm. A scream makes its way past my lips involuntarily. One only Azazel would recognize.

Due to Ironhelm being stupid like the rest, he had tied Tony Stark up and left him unattended in an attempt to capture me as well, but he underestimated Azazel's persistence and now he's lost his only means of water safety. Azazel teleports Rory clear off of the ship and far out into sea, before returning just as I'm dusting myself off.

"You are alright?" He asks hesitantly and I find myself grinning, saying, "I'm fucking freezing and I might have some brain damage, but, hey—" I stop talking abruptly, realizing just how long it's been since we've been this close; spoken to one another; _seen_ one another since my departure from the Institute, and I think Azazel realizes it, too because he's watching me with a curious look, only he's not watching my eyes, but my lips. Buuut before I can indulge myself in yet another round of unlawful debauchery, a bright pink light in the distance alerts us to an approaching threat. Blink must have found Domino or one of the others. They'll be upon us soon. We won't be able fight them all off or outrun them.

Not with the ship at least.

Wordlessly, Azazel leads me back to where Tony Stark remains bound by the Captain's cabin, where Rory left him, and I use one of my throwing knives to cut him loose. Once I do, Azazel offers his hand, asking, "Can you swim?"

"Do I have to?" Is Stark's reluctant, dread-filled reply.

"You may have to."

"Thanks, but I think I'll sit this one ou—"

And then we're on our way. We teleport out a couple hundred yard or miles (Hell, I don't know), pausing in mid air before teleporting again and again and again. This continues for nearly thirty minutes before Azazel begins to grow tired. The first time we fall in the water, I nearly have a heart attack. Winter is upon us, and the water is below freezing. The second fall nearly kills us. Azazel loses consciousness and I'm forced to slap him several time, all the while choking on sea water as waves push and shove us about, before he finally gets it together and starts off again. He's getting slower and none of us knows how much longer we can go on like this before we reach land. I'm starting to think we should have given ourselves up. I mean, what was Erik going to do? _Kill me?_ I mean, he wouldn't do that to me, right?

…Right?

*Sigh* And just when things were getting good….

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**Reunited and it feels so...awkward. Let's do this!**

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	6. Chapter 6 Shiver

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words! Thanks for the patience, reading, and the feed back! Enjoy;D**

Chapter 6: Shiver

"I hate you." Tony coughs, rolling onto his back once all of the sea water is out of his lungs so that he can glare at me, his face sunburned and his hair peppered with sand, and groans, "I hate you both."

"Hey, we—" I grunt, forcing myself into a sitting position with some difficulty. The air breezes by me, chilling me to the bone. The moment my lungs start working properly again, I'll work on finding us some shelter. We're going to need it. "Are the ones who_ saved_ your ass!"

"What, you want a _metal?"_

I think about this a moment, kicking back in the sand for a while, then cock my head to the side and say, "Actually, yes, that would be _very_ nice. What do you think Azazel?" I turn to look at him, but he seems to have passed out. "Azazel?" Cursing to myself, I hobble over, tearing off the remnants of my latex mask from my face, and stop once I'm by his side, assessing the damage. No unusual wounds, no head trauma that I can see, he's _breathing_…He'll be okay. I think he's just exhausted. I've never seen him teleport so many times before!

I look around the beachfront, searching for shelter and checking to make sure we're alone. It's still dark but it won't be for much longer. Not with winter being upon us. We'll have only a few hours before the sun comes up, but that won't be enough to make it from here to Westchester before the MRD sniffs us out. Not unless Azazel is strong enough to make a few more jumps. I pat his face with a sandy hand, first softly, then not so softly. He doesn't stir.

Okaaay, Plan B.

"Okay," I whisper looking to both goateed men as the wheels turn in my head. "We need to hide somewhere. We'll l-look less conspicuous in the day," I shiver, realizing just how cold it is now that we're out of the frigid water. We'll need to do something about these clothes as well. They're soaked and hypothermia will set in that much faster unless we get warm. "Until then, we should try to find some shelter."

"W-we could always pretend to be homeless." Offers Stark with a laugh. "_You've_ got the part down."

"You have no idea," I mutter under my breath, thinking ruefully of my lost home back on Genosha, before staggering to my feet. The collar clacks against my collar, reminding me of its existence, and I realize just how hard this is going to be without my powers. But at least I have my swords, throwing knives, pepper spray, taser, and night stick…

Yeah, I think I'm good.

It's Stark and (surprisingly) Azazel that I'm worried about here. There are dangerous people about. If an enemy or a random stranger looking for a ransom discovers a worn out, nearly passed out, Tony Stark, who knows what could happen? And while Azazel's image inducer is still working, he's too worn down to be of much use to either of us right now. It's up to me.

"Find your feet, Stark." I command, rising on wobbling legs and nuddging him with my foot. He stirs, groans, and murmurs something about taking a nap. "You can't." I snap, keeping a sharp eye out for Mardies (MRD's). "It's not safe here. We've got to find shelter." I scan further up the beach. About a mile away, I can see fencing, probably to a factory or warehouse. We might be able to break in in we're careful.

"What do you mean it's not safe?" Asks Stark incredulously, staggering to his feet and dusting himself off. "This is public property! And we," He gestures to himself, real egotistical. "Are the public."

"Maybe we used to be." I grunt, taking hold of one of Azazel's legs. "Help me out, will you?"

Stark gives a start then follows my lead, and, together, we begin to drag Azazel across the beach towards the warehouses. Maybe we can find an abandoned one? Wouldn't that be something? "Now—" Groans Stark, pulling only a quarter of the weight I am but somehow struggling more than me. "What did you—_ngh_—mean by "used to be?""

"Do you always ask so many questions?" I reply, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead. For a supposed genius, he's not too bright.

"Wise men ask questions," Is Starks' sage reply. "Only fools think they know all the answers." He grins at me boyishly, his teeth still full of sand, "How do you think I became so smart?"

"Hm, alright then, genius." I concede, heaving some of Azazel's weight to my right shoulder. I've wanted him on top of me for a while now, but this isn't quite what I had in mind. "What I mean is, we are no longer considered the public, as we are no longer considered Human. Mutants, that is." I add in clarification. "The moment my powers manifested, I was no longer my parents' daughter. I was no longer a student or a hospital patient. I no longer _mattered._"

"But having powers is amazing!" Grunts Tony excitedly, completely missing the point. "I wish I could do what you can and I'm pretty sure I haven't seen the half of it."

"You're right," I agree, but not so much about my powers but the real issue here. "You haven't. Amazing as it may be, being born a Mutant is a _curse_ in the eyes of society. Mutants don't have a voice, they don't have a say, they don't have a _choice._" I sharpen my gaze as we approach the fence and lower my voice. I haven't seen any MRD's yet but that could all change in an instant if we're not vigilant. "If we are caught on this beach," I say, wanting to stress the importance of this moment. "I will be taken to a facility that specializes in Mutant capture. I will be beaten, locked up, tortured, and experimented on. And then I will be killed and put on display. As will Azazel. _You_," I continue, ignoring his horrified stare. "Will be returned to your home where you will drink and party and ship your weapons off the ones who hunt us, and you will forget all about me and what you will see. Because you are Human. And I am not."

We reach the gate and I curse, dropping Azazel's leg and hoping he hasn't been sliced up by the glass that people tend to leave here and there on the dunes. "Keep a look out." I whisper to the suddenly-silent Stark, withdrawing one of my throwing knives—one with a serated edge—and stooping before the fence. I may be able to saw through it but it will take time. If I only had some shears or—

"Hey, Miss Mutant?" Stark calls form a ways off and I look around wildly before I find him standing a few feet away, pointing at the gate. "Ever heard of dues ex machina?"

It would appear someone else has already made a hole for us.

_Excellent!_

"If I—_ugh_—could only get this fucking collar off!" I mutter through grunts of effort as we lift Azazel's heavy ass and try to find a way into one of the buildings. "I could just _phase_ us through!"

"Must be maddening," Comments Stark on the other side of me, his arms hooked under Azazel's arms while I struggle with his legs. "Like having a gun that can never go off."

"More like a hand that can never pick anything up." I correct stiffly. "I prefer not to think of myself as a weapon, thank you."

"Touchy!" Grins Stark, forever joking.

"Nope. Just Human." I groan, nearly tripping over a beer bottle that someone left on the ground. "I would've thought you of all people might understand what it's like to want to be seen as a person, not a weapon."

"Thought you said you _weren't_ Human."

"Nice catch," I mutter through gritted teeth as we circle around towards the back of the factory. "It's—uck—hard to explain...I like to see myself, and others like me, as Humans with special abilities. But most people, Human and otherwise alike, tend to disagree. It's just easier to categorize, you know? Black, white, brown, green, blue—" I shift my weight to get Azazel off of my shoulder and onto the ground, dropping him a little rougher than I'd intended. Stark didn't even _try_ to slow his fall. "Red."

I meet Starks' gaze briefly, then hurriedly look away with a gruff, "You gonna help me break in or are you just going to stand there? _Let's move, hero!_" We circle the property once, but I can see no trap lying in wait so far. We should be safe for the night. Using one of my nightsticks, I carefully break in one of the large windows bordering the factory and hurry inside where Stark and I somehow manage to hoist Azazel inside without hurting him. Once inside, we find a place to hole up (a work closet filled with equipment and discarded work clothing). I take one look at Stark, shivering beside me in his soaked clothes, and note how incredibly pale he is as well as the slight-blue tint on his lips. That can't be good. We need to get warm and _soon_.

I stand up and start taking off my belt.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Chatters Stark, watching me undress in confusion.

"Relax," I mutter, shivering down to the bone with the cold as I start unlacing my boots. "You don't want to freeze to death, do you? I know **I** don't." I reach over, plucking one of the work pants off of its hook and toss it at him. "There are some coats behind you. Pass me one."

We change out of our clothes and into the worker's gear (Some baggy, cargo pants, and an ugly, brown work jacket) and hang our clothes up to dry just outside of the work closet. Looking around, we come to see that we're in some kind of welding factory. There's steel everywhere and some pretty dangerous-looking rigs. There might be a way for us to get this damned collar off of me after all!

But first…

"You, ah, got him, right?" I ask, gesturing to the still-clothed, sleeping Mutant between us. There is _no way_ I'm touching that! I might molest the poor man in his sleep and then what will he think of me?

"You want _me _to dress him…" States Stark incredulously, paling again but not from the cold, and looks around a moment before pointing to his chest, asking, "Do I look like a maid, to you?"

I take a moment to study him in his welder's apron and cargo pants and cock my head to the side with my eye brows raised expectantly in a look that says, "Yeah, you kind of do." He snorts loudly but begrudgingly starts plucking some clothes from the closet with a disgruntled, "Fine! But if he wakes up, I'm knocking him back out."

"I can live with that." I say, then take a look outside. "I'm going to see if I can find some food. Water. Maybe a bathroom." I take my belt with me, slinging it across my shoulders. There's bound to be a vending machine at least! An office fridge perhaps? I'm _starving!_ "Call me if you need anything."

Not **five minutes **after I leave does Stark come running up to me, panting, "I can't. I—I just—I can't."

"What are you _five!?_" I ask in frustration, dropping the power-saw that I was just about to use on the collar at my neck (not one of my best ideas). I sigh, then, realizing we're both better suited to the other's task, I leave him to find the equipment and food, and—after arming him with mace and my taser—I head back to find Azazel strewn on the floor, still unconscious, with his shirt half-shrugged off but nothing else taken off or put on.

_Seriously, Stark? __**That's**__ where you weirded out at? _

I kneel down and start to hurriedly peel the rest of Azazel's clothes off. I don't need him waking up on me like this. In an attempt to avoid looking at his body, I instead focus on his face, assessing his condition. His olive skin is cold as ice and just as pale, and I fear he might be getting sick. A cold sweat has begun to spring up on his forehead and collar, and there are dark, reddish circles forming under his eyes.

…Okay, this is _too_ weird.

He looks _unnatural_ this way. I need that crimson skin back.

I turn the dial on his image inducer, figuring we should be safe for the time being, and watch as he reverts to his natural form once more._ Red._ I missed that color. No red is the same. Especially not this one—

Uh-oh, I'm crossing into "inappropriate touching/thinking" territory. Gotta ease up on the finger trailing.

Attempting to remain objective and remember_ why_ I'm doing this, I focus on the clothes and the clothes only, and manage to get off his jacket and the buttoned-up shirt beneath. My breath lessens as I suddenly forget all about his clothes and just stare, transfixed, at _everything: _the tattoos on his chest, the scar on his shoulder, the veins in his arms, the curve of his collar bone. Ugh! It's too much! It's not fair!

My hand moves of its own accord up to his cheek and I trail my fingers down the side of his face, over his collar, down his chest and to his abdomen where they linger at his waist line. He shudders in his sleep but doesn't awaken. I—I wonder if…if he still…

I have to pause, trying to breathe as I scold myself for being so damned _creepy_, and I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear Stark call from outside, "Is he still naked?"

"Y-yes!" I call frantically, feeling like a naughty child who just got caught doing something she shouldn't have, (which I was) and turn back to Azazel to finish the job, but I freeze when I find him already awake, his startlingly blue eyes peering at me like he doesn't quite understand what's going on. _Shit! Is it too late to knock him out?_

"I—y-you…" I try to explain myself as he takes in the closet, the sodden clothes in my hands, my odd getup, and finally his own partial nakedness. "We are…hiding, yes?" He murmurs drowsily. God, he sounds so weak, so _tired_! We've got to get him to the Institute stat!

I nod in response then say, "We'll leave in the morning but first we need to get you out of those clothes."

Purposely avoiding my helping hand, Azazel staggers to his feet and I have to dive under him, bracing my hands against his shoulders, to keep him from falling over. He breathes a heavy sigh of exhaustion and leans against a shelf for support while I help him into the work jacket. He doesn't bother to zip it up and starts unzipping his pants before I even get the chance to excuse myself. I turn away abruptly, dropping the work pants on a shelf as I say, "Just call me if you need help."

"I have tried many times," He replies quietly, significantly, and I stop, guilt creeping to the surface as he says, "It has not worked for me very far."

"So far." I correct softly, my back still to him. I can hear his clothes hitting the ground as he continues to change. "Azazel, I-I _had_ to go…I don't expect you to understand."

"Of course, you don't." He spits venomously, sarcastically. "How could I possibly understand what you are going through? It is not like we are in the same boat together. So to say."

"That's not what I—" I start to object but stop. Maybe that_ is_ what I meant. I half turn to find him slipping on the pants I found for him and I blush furiously, raising an eyebrow with a smirk when I catch a glimpse of cheek. Cherry red cheek. "Listen, I'm not going to lie to you." I say, turning away once more. "I left for selfish reasons. But I _don't_ regret it. I feel more like myself than I have in years. But I think I know what I have to do now. I'm going back to the Institute, with or without your help."

He moves closer, having finished changing, but I don't turn around for fear of what I might see. I still care for him. I still _want_ him. I know that now. But I don't know if he feels the same way. But a small glimmer of hope surfaces when he says gently, "I never said I would not help you. There is still much to be explained. Perhaps the Professor can help us both." _Chilly._ So, still angry that I left, but willing to give me a chance.

I can work with that.

And besides, I'd hate to have to go back to the Institute alone. I'm sure there are others who weren't to happy about my sudden, goodbye-less change in address. I only hope the X-Men will be willing to hear me out. Because Azazel _is_ right: There is much to be explained. And_ war_ is just over the horizon._  
_

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**Thanks again for reading! Until next time...**

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	7. Chapter 7 Back Story

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words! Thank you and Enjoy ;D**

Chapter 7: Back Story

_Previously, on the New Threat:_

_He moves closer, having finished changing, but I don't turn around for fear of what I might see. I still care for him. I still want him. I know that now. But I don't know if he feels the same way. But a small glimmer of hope surfaces when he says gently, "I never said I would not help you. There is still much to be explained. Perhaps the Professor can help us both." Chilly. So, still angry that I left, but willing to give me a chance._

_I can work with that._

_And besides, I'd hate to have to go back to the Institute alone. I'm sure there are others who weren't to happy about my sudden, goodbye-less change in address. I only hope the X-Men will be willing to hear me out. Because Azazel is right: There is much to be explained. _

_And war is just over the horizon._

A knock at the door makes us both jump, then comes an impatient voice from the other side of the door, "You guys done or shall I eat _all_ these _snickers_ by myself?" Oh, damn! Forgot about Tony. I open the door and he shoves the bars in my face, saying smugly, "How's that for—?" Something past me catches his eye and I watch as his face falls in a look of shock I've seen all too often. He jumps back with a, "Oh shit!", nearly dropping his snickers and...whatever else he seems to have brought with him.

"What?!" I exclaim, looking around wildly, but it's just Azazel.

**Oh...**

"Oh, that's right." I murmur aloud as Tony takes in Azazel's true appearance for the very first time. I'd completely forgotten! And now for the moment of truth. There's a long pause during which Azazel and I both exchange an uncertain glance, waiting for the shit storm, the horror, the _usual_, but it never comes.

"You know, I always knew you were a devil in disguise." Remarks Stark charismatically, wagging his finger at the scarlet Mutant with nearly-shoulder length, black hair, pale blue eyes and a wickedly spaded tail swishing and curling behind him; utterly unfazed by his appearance. "Fitting, hm?" Stark looks to me for confirmation and I nod mechanically, not knowing what else to do. I'm still reeling! "And here I thought **I **was the only one who could work red. I mean I still _wear it _better but—" He shrugs, taking a seat between the two of us, still standing tensely, shocked out of our minds that his reaction wasn't so…harsh or appaled or even relatively shocked. I mean, _my _mutation isn't too noticeable unless my eyes and hands are glowing, or I happen to be astral projecting. But Azazel's Mutation is pretty forward and shock-worthy. He literally looks like a demon! "It doesn't look bad on you either, I suppose."

No, not bad at all.

"Alright," Says Stark, clapping his hands together as we both settle down to sit heavily on other side of him. I watch curiously as he lifts a welding tool from the pile he unceremoniously dumped in the closet upon his reentry, and pale when he lights it with the flick of his thumb, "Ready?"

No.

I sit down, trying to hold still, while the playboy sets to work on my collar, a snickers bar hanging out of his mouth like a cigar. "Please, be careful." Advises Azazel from the side, watching closely as Tony starts picking at wires with a pair of tweezers and what appears to be a miniature blowtorch. I glance at him, an eyebrow raised, and purse my lips as if to say, "Concerned?" But he merely narrows his eyes slightly under a hooded brow and redirects his attention back to Tony's intricate handy work.

"Just. One. Second!" Replies Tony in a singsong voice, speaking past the snickers bar between his teeth. "Alllmooosst got it…_now!_" The collar opens with a click. I wrench the thing off of my neck and chuck it through the closet door with a celebratory, "Ah, _yes!_ Finally!" I crane my neck from side to side, glad to be rid of the damned thing, and inhale deeply, feeling like I can finally flex my muscles after a very long car ride. _Fuck_ those collars. "You really _are_ a genius." I comment with a grateful grin at Tony.

"Yes," Mutters Stark, busying himself with tossing his tools aside and jamming the snickers bar back in his mouth, "I think we established that."

Jerk.

We hole up in the closet together, using the ugly jackets and aprons for blankets against the cold, and, while all of us are exhausted, none of us can seem to get any sleep. I especially find it hard to shut my eyes at the moment, thanks to the looming shadow that continues to creep its way into my skin and pour over my shoulders, cold and frightening. It continues to grow and swirl in my mind, consuming all other thought until I start clawing at my own skin in my distress. My nails dig into my hands, nearly drawing blood, but before full-on Panic Mode can be initiated, I notice someone watching me. And, after a good while of having Stark _stare_ at me, I finally ask, "What is it?"

"Your name is Nightshade, right?" He asks through half a snickers bar. I nod. He takes a bite out of the bar, speaking through a mouth full of chocolate, and asks, "_And _you're kind of like a Ghost, wrong?"

"No, that's—" I roll my eyes, wanting to know where he's going with this already. "That's a pretty accurate description. My nickname used to be Ghostgirl." Drove me insane. Still does. I give him a curious—somewhat suspicious—glance, asking, "What of it?"

"So it _was_ you!" He exclaims suddenly, catching both Azazel and I off guard. We haven't stopped being tense since we got here, but Stark seems right at home. Nothing seems to faze this guy! "I knew it!"

"You know her?" Azazel asks before I get the chance to.

"Not me," Corrects Tony pointedly. "A friend of mine; a very close friend." Tony admits with a slight blush. I'm guessing this "friend" is anything but. "You don't happen to remember an associate of mine by the name of Potts, do you? _Pepper_ Potts?" I frown. I don't recall who he's talking about. Tony sighs and begins listing off traits, "Red hair, brown eyes, spitfire." When, still, I'm not sure, he gives me something I can work with. "You raided one of our ships a while back and she said you saved her life."

Ooooh! "I remember," I murmur. That was a _long_ time ago! "I'm surprised she bothered to mention me." That specifically, at least.

"Surprised?" Repeats Stark in shock, like that's the weirdest thing he's ever heard. He leans forward, suddenly sounding pretty serious, and says pointedly, "You saved her_ life._ She wouldn't shut up about it! It bothered her for the longest time. She always wondered why you did it. Still does probably."

"Are you serious?"

"Mhm," He nods, jamming yet another candy bar in his mouth as he says, "You should hear her go on. Hey, you should stop by the office sometime and talk to her." He gives a hard swallow, then adds, "She's been dying to see you again."

I can't believe this! "Really?"

He nods vaguely, stuffing half a snickers bar down his throat and—like I knew he would even as he was doing it—he begins to choke. I simply roll my eyes, sitting back while Azazel pats the idiot-genius on the back and smile to myself, thinking about Potts. Humans, they never cease to amaze me. One thing that really bothers me about this, however, is Potts being confused as to why I saved her. Why is there any question? I didn't like the direction the operation was going and I put a stop to it. That's what _most_ people would do.

_Or maybe I'm just being optimistic,_ I think as I watch Azazel pat Stark on the back as the idiot tries to Heimlich himself. I find myself studying Azazel, taking care of this Human, and a question surfaces: _What the hell is he doing with Tony Stark?_ I mean, Azazel has been _known_ to work with Humans in the past—even if he doesn't quite remember that part—but this seems like a bit of a stretch to me. First Stryker, then the Mob, and now this? Too weird.

"_So,"_ I say casually, watching the two of them closely, but addressing my question to Stark, "How did you two meet?"

Alarm is the only word to describe the look on Azazel's face but Stark isn't as well-tuned to Azazel's subtle facial expressions as I am, and it goes right over his head as he says enthusiastically, "Funny you should ask. You would not _believe_ how I found this guy!"

"Please," Interrupts Azazel hesitantly, avoiding my gaze, "It is not worth telling."

"Aw, c'mon," Tony whines as I continue to try to catch Azazel's eye. _What are you hiding, my dear?_ "You were like a modernized 007, but waaay less smooth." He turns to me and excitedly begins his story, "I'm at this convention for some bullshit charity or whatever, right? And in walks this _James Bond_-looking devil walking around like he's about to really shake things down. So," He shrugs. "I follow him to see where it goes."

The story goes on, and on, and_ on _before it finally gets to the good part, but the gist of it is that Stark follows Azazel around at this party, watching Azazel interrogate people for information; all the while drinking, socializing, and trying like hell to get in on the action. Until he loses Azazel a while before the party ends. Having gotten utterly shit-faced at said party, Stark went to find a closet to pass out in. What he _found_ was something entirely different.

"This guy is in _bed_ with the _wife _of one of the world's top kingpins in their hotel suite!" Exclaims Tony excitedly. I give no reaction to this other than the slight, almost-imperceptible perk of my eyebrows before I narrow my eyes slightly and continue to listen. This time, I'm the one who won't meet Azazel's eye. "And, of course, the guy found 'em along with his—what—_twelve_ guards?" Azazel nods numbly in confirmation. Tony keeps right on going, "So, I open the door right as this is going on and I realize I've just walked into a would-be gun fight! And you know what I say?" He looks to Azazel who, in turn, looks redder than usual, and asks, "What did I say?"

Yes, what _did_ you say?

Azazel sighs, then reluctantly says, "'Got room for one more?'"

Stark erupts in bouts of laughter that neither of us join in. Azazel meets my eye but I look away quickly, and give a breathy chuckle. Stark hardly seems to notice, saying languidly, "Aaand then they shot up the place."

"You know," He adds sharply, catching Azazel's attention once more, "I was _wondering _how you managed to move that fast. I thought I was just drunk off my ass, but nope! Just another supernatural bloke on a mission." Stark looks to me with a smirk, reaching into the pile of snickers between us to toast to the red Mutant with one of said bars. "And Azazel's been savin' my ass since that day."

"Then you've been together for a while now." I state bluntly, meeting Azazel's eye once more with a look that says, "I didn't leave that note behind for shits and giggles, you know. When I said to stay behind and look after your son,_ I meant it._ In other words, what the fuck are you doing with this clown?"

Of course…I'd never say this out loud. Not quite so blatantly at least.

"Well I wouldn't say together…" Ironman's voice trails off, noticing the tense eye contact being made by the two of us. I'm thinking. Wondering. And so is he, I can tell. Azazel's eyes are narrowed, accusatory; probably still angry about my rapid, unexplained departure from the Institute. As if he has a right to be. And me, I'm just pissed in general. Even though **I** have no right to be. And I _know_ I don't. We were never official and still aren't. And recent events just seem to keep proving that. So why am I so damned _pissed_ right now?

Never breaking eye contact, I decide to do a little digging of my own, "How's your son?" Yeesh! That came out more snappish than I'd intended...But it can't be helped.

Stark looks to Azazel quickly, open-mouthed, but says nothing, waiting for Azazel's tense reply, "He is fine." The red Mutant quips. "A very bright boy."

"Oh, that's nice to hear." Is my half-hearted reply as I finally break eye contact to pick up one of my throwing knives. They're in need of a good sharpening. My next question, as intended, is falsely-aloof, and filled with significance, "Still in school, I take it?"

"Yes. He graduates this year." Replies Azazel calmly, his hand deftly organizing the remaining candy bars in neat rows before us. He looks up, his icy blue eyes cutting chilly daggers at me, "Not that _you_ would be knowing this."

_Burn._

I purse my lips, twiddling with one of my throwing knives, but never taking my eyes off his, "Any luck on retrieving some of those lost memories?" I ask smugly, tensely, twirling the knife through my fingers with expert precision. "I went through all the trouble to find out who _stole _them from you, after all."

"You mean a single name on a piece of paper?" Azazel replies just as smugly, continuing his organizing as I set to work on sharpening my third blade with the hard scraping of my razor. My index finger bleeds where I accidentally cut myself in my anger, but I pay it no mind. I find Azazel's next words_ far_ more interesting, "Unfortunately (and I am not sure _why_) but it was not very helpful to me. Although, I am uncertain it would _matter_ if I had these memories anyway. It was a short period in time, I understand."

My freshly sharpened harpoon lodges in a crack in the concrete floor and I snatch up one of the others and start aggressively slapping it into one of my arm cuffs. "Yes, hardly of any significance," I say in a false tone of agreement, before adding viciously. "To _you_ at least."

"I can't seem to think of a reason why I should want them back." Is his sharp reply. "Perhaps you could, ahh," He searches for the word. "_Enlighten_ me."

"I could, couldn't I?" I finish slapping my harpoons in my cuffs, and, with nothing left to do, lift my head to meet his eye coldly, saying, "But you're right. I mean, why go through the trouble of remembering when_ Mystique_ tried _so hard_ to keep it from you? I'm sure she meant it all for the best—"

He sit up straighter, his gaze sharpening on me like a sniper, "Is there something you are trying to say?"

"I don't know what you mean." I say in a low hiss, trying to press his buttons now as I clip on each of my cuffs on before leaning forward myself, snarling in a near-whisper, "You're going to have to _reiterate_ that."

"You are angry with _me?!_" Asks Azazel, astounded. "After _you _abandoned—" He stops, a muscle working in his jaw, then says, "Your friends, your_ family?_ Kurt needed _you_ as much as he needs me."

Enraged, I leap to my feet, exclaiming, "What am I his mother?! Why don't you ask_ Mystique_ for help, I'm sure she wouldn't mind!"

Azazel rises, too, standing taller than me as he spits, "Mystique. It always goes back to her, with you!"

I cross my arms stonily, standing straighter as I reply viciously, "Maybe it _wouldn't _if she weren't constantly out to get me because _you_ just couldn't contain your _grief!_" Yeah, still kinda pissed about that.

"What—" The anger dissipates in his eyes and is replaced by a stunned, bewildered look, "What are you saying?"

"Oh, you know what I—" I stop. No, he_ doesn't_ know what I'm talking about. Those memories were taken from him by the telepath, Psylocke. He doesn't remember his little affair with Raven shortly after my death. My anger towards him (at the moment) is completely misguided. Well...partly, I suppose. He still _did it,_ but he just doesn't remember.

Oops.

"Nothing." I snap, snatching up the rest of my gear as I head for the door. "I need some air."

The closet door shuts loudly behind me and I pause outside the door and put a hand to my head in distress. That was _completely_ uncalled for. I picked a fight and it didn't solve anything; didn't answer my questions or quell the fears that have been growing in me since I woke up from a death-sleep nearly two years ago. I turn back towards the door, chewing on my lip.

I should…

…Go for a walk and work myself up again. Yeah…That's what I'll do.

_Yeah..._

* * *

"Soooo you're going after her right?" Asked Tony languidly. All that was missing was the popcorn. He had no idea his newly acquired henchman had so much baggage! Not that he hadn't enjoyed the altercation. He lived for that stuff, secretly, even if he feigned disinterest.

"Why should I?" Muttered Azazel. But he didn't sit back down. He just continued to stare at the door as if she were still there, glaring right back at him, and pointed to the door, crying out, "_She_ is the one who attacked me!"

"Because she wants you to _talk_ to her." Tony explained exasperatedly, feeling far too much like his therapist at the moment. "But she's too stubborn to say what she wants. Trust me," He added with a shudder, thinking of all the times Pepper put him in the dog house for not addressing a problem he didn't even _know_ he had. "I know."

Azazel ran a hand through his hair, thinking for the third time that day that he ought to cut it soon, then said tiredly, "Perhaps it would be better to explain." He wanted to make things up. God knows he wanted to make things up. But he just _couldn't_ with her! They always seemed to be at odds; mistrustful of one another. And when things _did_ start getting good, there was always something _else_ in the way; be it a confrontation, some other man, or his own past catching up with him. It was like fate just didn't want it to work.

Sensing he was losing the Mutant, Tony decided it was time for some answers, "You guys have some serious history." He said casually, not wanting to sound _too_ interested.

Azazel nodded, sitting down at last with a tired sigh. "We have…been through a lot together. More than I know, I am certain." He brought his hand to his goatee in thought, staring after the door intently. She was angry with him. It must be because of that woman! That's right, she only started acting that way after Tony told his story! Perhaps it brought up bad memories? Again, Azazel sighed, wondering how many times he'd betrayed her in the past (and present) and still expected her to be _his_ through it all. "I should not have said that!" He exclaimed at last, fixing a hand in his hair in dismay.

Tony looked around, confused, and asked, "Said—what? Said what?" He really hadn't been listening. Personal conflicts are boring when they're not his, he decided. And Azazel wasn't much of a story teller, like he'd hoped. He wanted some dirt!

"That my memories, the memories of us, did not matter." Explained Azazel.

Tony pursed his lips, thinking back, then said cautiously, "Ahh, you didn't—"

"I may as well have." Interjected Azazel impatiently. Of course it mattered! But he'd been so angry..."I do not remember what we endured during that time, but...I see flashes of the time we were…" He paused, not entirely sure of what he wanted to say. He wasn't used to this "sharing" thing.

"Together?" Tony finished for him, feeling quite sage, but Azazel merely shook his head and said, "I do not know that we ever _were_. But I know I loved her. And she loved me." He lightly touched his lips, trying hard to remember what hers felt like. "Once. I do not remember her, but I can never forget the way she died."

Tony nearly choked for the second time that night, staring at the rising Mutant in bewilderment as he stood and made his way to the door, "Excuse me—**Died?!**"

Chosing to ignore the exclamation, Azazel continued on, muttering to himself, "I must speak with her."

"H-hey, you—you can't..." Tony tried to apologize, but the Mutant had already gone. Still, Tony felt he ought to voice his main concern, "_What if I choke again?!_"

* * *

I need to apologize.

He may have betrayed me once, twice, maybe three times in the past, but he still deserves an explanation and he deserves to be heard out. Besides, I need to speak my piece as well. Maybe...Maybe **_I_** ought to come clean, too...

But what would that solve? I mean, there's no point! Like I said previously, _who I choose to screw is my decision._ The same thing goes for Azazel. The only explanation either of us owes is where we've been all this time. Catching up, that's all. And maybe—maybe we can patch things up while we're at it. Friends. Maybe we were just meant to be friends all along!

*Sigh* Well, I guess I'll never find out if I keep wandering around like this. I'd better—

Just as I turn on my heel to start heading back, something catches my ear, pulling me up short, and I duck behind a large machine to listen as an unwelcome sound fast approaches. Struggle, gun shots, a shout, a strange buzzing sound. A fight.

I secure my belt across my shoulders—as it no longer fits right around my waist thanks to this awful work uniform—and draw my broad swords. They glisten in the blue tint of the moon streaming through the glass roof of the factory, allowing for some (albeit _shitty_) visibility. The sounds are muffled but moving closer. The brawlers are just outside.

I start towards them, curious to see what's going on, when a sudden wave of nausea envelops me and sends me on one knee, leaning heavily against some enormous power drill. The world muddies around me and an uncomfortable feeling overcomes me, like someone is touching me, picking me up, but I haven't moved. That's because someone _is_ picking me up. Someone far, far away in a little cottage by the sea.

After all, I never did retrieve my body from Magneto.

* * *

**More to come soon! Sorry for the wait! Thanks for reading as always. Until next time...**

**~THESCRIBE! ;D**


	8. Chapter 8 No Mind, No Matter

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words and OC's! Thank you and Enjoy ;D**

Chapter 8: No Mind, No Matter

My body. Whenever I astral project, I leave behind a physical form, which serves as a vessel in which my power, my life force, my conscious being resides. A shell, a homing beacon, a hindrance in a fight. My astral body is the source of my power. If I don't astral project, I'm as helpless as a Human (except for the newly acquired weaponry and fighting skills I've attained), which is why I was unable to defeat the twenty or so men who attacked me in my home. And why—when I was forced to make a run for it thanks to my mutinous partners—I was also forced to leave my body behind. And now, it would seem, Magneto has sent someone to retrieve said body, causing me to experience this new wave of nausea and anxiety. I have no idea what he'll do with it. Lock me up, put me on ice, experiment on me...

_Oh, God, no! Don't think about that!_ I've been a lab rat before, strapped away in a glass prison with a psycho hovering over me, wondering what makes me tick. I don't know what Essex did to me while I was in my death-induced coma; I don't know if what he did worked and succeeded in waking me up, but I _do_ know that he was able to put me back together and let me walk away, free.

I can't say the same for Erik Lehnsherr.

The sound of a door bursting open jolts me out of my daze and I squint to find an MRD soldier has just sailed through the locked doors of the factory and crash-landed into the power drill I was leaning against. I crouch further behind the machine, waiting for the MRD's assailant/prey (most likely) to arrive, seeing as I have no idea what I'm dealing with here. The MRD stirs as a figure steps through the door, shrouded in shadow due to the moonlight streaming in through the broken door. Her frame is slight, but her shadow casts a much larger figure, and her presence is nothing short of threatening.

"Get up." Hisses the figure, her voice cutting through the dark like a knife. It sounds to be a young woman. A _very_ young woman.

Rogue?

The hooded figure storms over, her face pale and streaked with dirt and blood, and grabs the unconscious man up by the front of his armed vest and hoists him high in the air, shouting, "I said get up, you worthless piece of shit!" That's not the Rogue I know. What the hell?!

The man groans, unable to do much else. Enraged, Rogue tosses the man aside where he lands with a dull thud on the ground. I can hear her breath quickening with growing anger. I make to call out to her, but another wave of nausea rolls over me, and the words catch in my throat as I fight to keep the candy I ate earlier down. Then, I hear this, "Fine. If you won't talk. I—I'll just have to _make _you!" I look up quickly. The man's screams fill the air as Rogues' bare hand meets his face. But she doesn't let go. His screams reach a new volume of intensity, piercing in my ears. Seven seconds..eight seconds.._nine seconds_..**ten seconds**…

If she doesn't stop, he'll die.

"Rogue!" I bark out, digging one of my blades into the ground and using it to hoist myself to my feet. "_Enough!"_

She's so startled to see me that she drops him immediately and staggers back, a look of shock frozen on her stunned, young face. Her hair is twisted up in a short, tangled pony tail and her streaked bang falls over her right eye, wide with shock. She wears a dark green hoodie with a black crop-top underneath and hunter green cargo pants, torn and bloodied from one hell of a fight. _What the hell is she doing out here?! And on a school night?!_ I stagger over and fall to my knees beside the fallen Marty, who's begun to convulse on the ground before me and assess his condition. He's having a seizure. I quickly get on top of him and hold up his head, trying to keep him from knocking himself senseless. I hear a _**bamf—ing **_sound and know Azazel has come. Right on time. No—

Just in time.

"Azazel," I beckon urgently, completely forgetting our previous transgression for the moment, and say, "He's having a seizure. Get him to Tony and tell him to hold him steady." I move out of the way, still supporting the mans' shoulders so Azazel can come closer, saying quickly, "We may have to take him to a hospital if he worsens."

Wordlessly, Azazel places a hand on the writhing man's forehead and teleports away with one, last, questioning, _disappointed_ look towards Rogue. Once he's gone, I get to my feet with a grunt and study Professor Xavier's pupil with a mixture of general mistrust and a touch of heart ache. She doesn't even know what she could have done. What she was about to do. And, as far as I can tell, she doesn't seem to care. All is quiet for a moment while Rogue takes in my exhausted, sickly appearance, then she asks, "What's wrong with you?" There's no sympathy in her voice, no curiosity. Her voice is harsh, angry, unforgiving. Nothing at all like the Rogue I'd come to know for a brief time during my stay at the Institute. And again, _what the hell is she doing here anyway?!_

"I could ask you the same thing." I grunt, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead. It feels like I'm on a ship again, only the waves are much more violent. If it could just _end_ now, that'd be great…"Shouldn't you be at the Institute—you know—getting ready for school?"

"What do you care?" Snarls Rogue. pacing before me under the moonlight, looking more wild than I've ever seen her. "Didn't seem to _matter_ a year back!"

"Rogue," I say tiredly, knowing getting angry will only make things worse. "You _never_ stopped mattering to me. None of you. _Please,_ believe that."

"Shut up!" She screams suddenly, irately, making me jump. I have the feeling she's not in her right mind at the moment. "Just—_**shut up!**__"_ She charges for me suddenly, the building shaking with every step she takes. This isn't the first time she's abused her power tonight. I sigh, continuing to lean against my broad sword, and wait for her to crash through me and into the power drill, bending it clear in half. I can still go intangible. It just takes more concentration. A little difficult to do when you're trying not to hurl.

"So whose powers have you been tapping?" I ask, turning around to face her with a reprehensive look as she pulls herself out of the rubble, seething. The factory tilts to the right, but after a few blinks, it rights itself once more. "Logan, Hank,…?"

"No!" Rogue shouts, red faced. "I'd _never_ hurt Dr. McCoy!"

"Huh," I cock my head to the side, massaging my temple as it starts to pound, and say, "Then Logan—"

"Logan?!" She shakes her head, letting loose her hair so it dangles a few inches below her ears. Her anger is skyrocketing and I'm trying to figure out where it's coming from. Could it be from whoever she's recently attacker, or are these just her feelings? "Man, you really don't give a _damn _about us, _do you_?! " I open my mouth but she beats me to the chase, shouting, "_Logan __**left,**__ Elizabeth!"_

"That's Ms. Hawthorne to you, young lady." I correct sternly, staggering forward a bit as the world continues to rock side-to-side. If you're going to treat me like an outsider, you won't be addressing me so casually. "And I had _no idea_ he left." I force myself to soften my tone, hoping to soothe her rage. "But that doesn't mean I don't care about you. Now, if you'll just—" I swallow the nauseating lump in my throat, then say, "Calm down, I'll explain everything."

She takes a running stance, setting her dark eyes on me like a sniper on a target, "Sorry, but you missed your chance."

_Here we go._

* * *

**_Meanwhile…_**

He'd intended to leave the second he got back to the closet and laid the writhing man on the floor, but just as he prepared to go, Tony bade that he take the man to a hospital. The man was frothing at the mouth, his eyes were rolling into the back of his head, and his lips were turning blue. They both knew the man wouldn't live unless he received immediate, medical attention. Azazel argued the point. He was a trained killer. What did one MRD matter? He'd killed far too many to be worried for the sake of one man.

But Tony, the little hero he was, argued that the sake of one man meant the difference between monsters and men. And somehow, that got to him. Azazel had always pondered what separated himself from people like Grigori Vahkrov, who killed for sport and pleasure. Who had little regard for the lives of others. He'd killed before, but there was always a point to it. A purpose. A job to be done.

Letting this man die would be pointless. And it'd make him no better than the monster's he detested.

"You can save him." Said Tony severely, getting that serious look in his eye that he only got when something truly serious were happening. "You can get there in time, I know it. Now, put on that disguise thingy and _get your ass to the hospital!_"

Figuring Elizabeth could handle the raging adolescent—whom he'd gotten to know briefly during the time he spent at the Institute—he left for the hospital. He went as far as to walk the then still, unconscious MRD officer inside, where the man was taken from his arms, before teleporting away on the spot. It had taken him a few jumps (as he liked to call them) to get there. It would take a few more to find his way back. He'd been in such a hurry, he hadn't been paying attention to where the warehouse was or even what it was called.

But he was sure Elizabeth could handle _one,_ unruly teenager.

* * *

**_In the meantime…_**

Blood fills my mouth as the previous injury from Ironhelms' assault reopens and I cup a hand to my cheek, shocked and enraged that Rogue would do that to me! I need to move faster. If only Magneto would quit moving my body around already! I can hardly see and all the fast motion is only making things worse! Lifting myself off the ground, I get on one knee, spitting, then groan, "Didn't anyone teach you not to kick a woman while she's down?"

"Maybe _you_ could have," Mutters Rogue, moving a stray lock of disheveled hair out of her pale face, panting heavily and sweating just as much as I am. "If you'd _been there._" Her power is waning, I can tell. She'll have to rely on her fighting skills if she wants to beat me, which she won't. "You said you'd be there for us!" She cries in anguish. "You said you wanted to be part of our lives!"

"But I couldn't," I snap, growing more and more affronted at her behavior by the second. What did she expect from me?! I have a life of my own. Was I really supposed to cater to the whim of a teenager who has an entire support team and good friends on her side? "Maybe you'd understand _why_ if you'll just **calm down** and let me _explain it to you!"_

Her voice lowers to a deadly hiss, "You won't have to." My eyes widen, then narrow dangerously as she lifts her bare hand and starts toward me. "I'll find out fer myself."

I draw my nightstick with the intention of preventing that from happening. I brace myself for her to come at me again. I'll keep her from my memories if it means knocking her out to do so. Even in my weakened state, she's way out of her league—

_**Boom!**_

_**Crash!**_

_**Chk,chk,chk!**_

"Stop!"

"Freeze!"

"You're under arrest, Mutant scum!"

_Oh, come on!_

"Well, Rogue?" I ask as we slowly back up into each other, surrounded on all sides by eight (count 'em) _eight _MRD soldiers; all armed and_ very_ dangerous. They must have followed Rogue's path of destruction right to us! The circle draws in tighter and I draw my swords, asking, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" I take in the room quickly, trying to decipher the situation so I can end this quickly. I won't last long in a drawn out gun fight; especially not with Rogue on my back.

"Don't patronize me." Rogue grumbles, taking off her second glove and bawling her fists. "We'll finish this later."

"Maybe you didn't hear me the _first_ time," Calls out one of the soldiers, the leader, a man named Lt. Q'uan. He's not particularly large or fit really, but he's got the same air of authority that Trask, Stryker, and Lieutenant Cortez all have/had in common. He stands before the busted doors of the factory, casting a large shadow across Rogue and I, crouched in the center of the room like trapped rats. "I said _you're under arrest._ Now surrender, or face the firing squad!"

"Sir!" Whispers one of the men urgently, pointing to me with his gun, "That one is on the List!"

"_That _one?" Q'uan studies me, lifting his visor to reveal dark brown eyes and a fairly, young face. He lowers his gun, thinking, then turns to his subordinate, asking, "What's her name?"

As they're talking, Rogue moves to attack, but I lift a hand, halting her. There's that list again! I want to hear this. I _need_ to hear more. "She goes by Nightshade now." Continues Q'uan's subordinate, List Guy, while the other men and women close in on us, their guns poised, ready for an order. Rogue grows tense behind me, but I don't want her to attack yet. I have some questions to ask first. "But she used to be the Ghostgirl."

"The Ghostgirl!" Q'uan begins to laugh, a continuous chuckle that grows louder and louder until it finally lapses into a pleased sigh. He lifts his gun once more with a happy groan, "Oooh, yeah. I'm getting one _hell_ of a promotion for this!"

"This list you're talking about," I call out casually, letting my blades hit the ground in a peaceful—but somehow still threatening—gesture. Sweat crawls down the side of my face, but I'm trying hard not to show my exhaustion. Maybe we can scare them off? "You wouldn't happen to know who made it, would you? Or who put my name on it?" I shrug with a friendly smile. "I'm just curious."

Taken aback by my politeness (and tempted to work with me, but knowing that wouldn't exactly be "cool") Q'uan gives a shaky snort and says rudely, "Even if I _did_ know, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you!"

I'll bet not.

"Alright, alright," I concede, taking up my blades but keeping them low and loose in my grip. I waver on my feet, swaying slightly, but try to collect myself as the nausea begins to subside. Someone still has my body but the moving has lessened considerably._ Excellent._ "One more question…" I pause, straightening at last. I wait for complete silence before asking clearly and articulately. "Know anybody by the name of _The Bastard?_" A shift behind me. A small gasp. I turn my head slowly, taking in each face until I land on one woman, who gives a start, positively shrinking under my gaze. She wears no visor (like others in her squad) and I can clearly interpret the look on her face as one of panic. I give my wrists a sharp flick, turning my blades out, and say with a smirk, "That's a yes."

Concentrating my energy through my swords, I'm able to channel my energy fields through my blades and I throw my arms out, sending out a two waves of pure, kinetic energy surging through the room on all sides and knocking every Mardy off their feet before they get the chance to attack. I stagger, worn by the attack, but quickly get back up, knowing it's far from over. And who knows when Magneto will start moving me around again?

"The hell was that?!" Screams Rogue, clamouring to her feet indignantly. Knowing she wouldn't listen to me if I said "duck, I'm going to rake the room over with an energy blast!" I simply knocked her down with the sweep of my leg and a sharp elbow to the chest. I'd been _hoping_ to just knock her _out _altogether, but I certainly can't do that now. We've got bigger problems on our hands. The MRD's are already regrouping!

I guess my attack wasn't as strong as I thought it was.

"Just be glad I didn't just slice you!" I snap back before as we meet back to back once more. All except for one Mardy are beginning to recover and soon they'll be upon us once more. We need to end this and quickly. I hand her a throwing knife and search for my mace or my taser, but, when I don't find either, I toss my night stick at her, saying urgently, "Now _focus!_ They want us alive. We'll use that to our advantage. The goal is to incapacitate them as quickly as possible with minimal damage. Got it?"

"Whatever." Is Rogue's stubborn reply. "I just don't wanna die."

"That makes two of us," I mutter under my breath, trying to figure out how in the hell I'm going to do this. The MRD's circle up around us once more, trying to figure out the same thing I am. They need us alive but they won't even get close to us with those collars without getting blasted (unless one of them has a gun to fire them at us). And I just can't kill them in general. That and I need the one called Smith and that woman from before _alive _so that I can question them. If only that last blast had been enough to scare them away.

A cloud of smoke erupts around us so suddenly, even** I** give a yelp of fear, until I realize we haven't been bombed. Not by a grenade at least. "I was wondering when you'd get here," I say nonchalantly as Azazel falls in with us, forming a circle with myself and Rogue. He draws his blades and takes a stance. "What took you?" I hiss chalantly. He gives me a frustrated look over his shoulder, but my eyes are on Q'uan, who is speaking intently—excitedly—with List Guy. Only this time, they have their sights on Azazel. I narrow my eyes at them, blood boiling at what the exchange suggests. It would seem I'm not the only one here on that little list of theirs. "Got lost." Mutters Azazel on my right.

"Figures," I reply before stepping out of our tight-knit circle, blades glinting dangerously, to catch the attention of the remaining MRD's. "Yield!" I shout as loudly as I can manage, making several of them jump and clutch their guns tighter. I point my sword at Q'uan (real dramatic-like), and shout, "Yield or come forth and _fight me!_" Ugh, I nearly lost my lunch on that one...

"Come with us _quietly,_" Calls Q'uan back, unyielding. "And there will be no need to fight!"

" 'Get her out of here.' " I say to Azazel, barging into his mind in order to establish a telepathic link. It's one of those powers I have that I don't quite understand. I'm no mind reader, but for some reason, I'm able to connect to people mentally who are either close to me or who possess telepathic capabilities. And now I'm using mine to protect (and further tick off) Rogue. " 'She'll kill them. And I need them alive.' "

Azazel nods once, but before he gets the chance to reach for the preoccupied teen, a scream cuts through the air and we all turn in alarm to see what happened.

It's Tony!

_That's _where my taser went!

The man who had been snuck onto one of the machines to shoot an inhibitor collar at us from above crumples and takes a dive off of the machine, nearly taking Tony with it. "Shit!" Curses Tony as he loses his grip on the taser and both it and the MRD goes tumbling to the ground. All guns turn on him but again, List Guy comes to the rescue, "Sir, sir!" He whispers to Q'uan. "That's Tony Stark!" When Q'uan just frowns, his gun still trained on Stark, who now has his hands raised in surrender, List Guy adds exasperatedly, "_Ironman!_"

Q'uan pales, curses, and looks around quickly for some sort of way out of this, but Tony speaks up before Q'uan has the chance, standing atop the machine triumphantly and shouting, "That's right," He lifts his arms righteously, and proudly proclaims. "_I am Ironman." _He points a dramatic finger, similar to the way I had but much less threatening, and says boldly, "And if you don't leave right now, I may just have to take this little incident up with _S.H.I.E.L.D!_"

"Are you kidding?" Scoffs Q'uan with a hearty chuckle. "Who do you think is _funding_ us?!"

This time, Stark pales, suddenly looking much less impressive in his welder's uniform, carrying only my mace in his hand and a half-eaten snickers in the other. "That—that's…Shit…" He looks to me for help but I just frown with a shrug. What does he want _me_ to do?! "_I-in any case—!_" Stark tries to recover, but Azazel and I have other plans. Taking advantage of Tony's distraction, Azazel teleports away and quickly begins dispatching MRD's. He doesn't kill them, however, and instead uses his blades to disarm them or injure them enough so that they can run or hurt anyone. That's new!

Meanwhile, I've got my sights set on that woman from before; the one who knows about the Bastard. Knocking over anyone who gets in my way, charge for her, but, knowing she's my target and that she can't beat me, she tries to make a break for it. "I don't think so!" My harpoon sinks deep into her bullet-proof (but not knife proof) vest and she gives a shriek as I retract the line and draw her to me. (She's lucky I don't fry her while I'm at it!) Once I reach her, I kick her gun out of her grasp, then I kneel down on her chest, "What do you know of the Bastard?" I shout, poising my still-glowing blade at her throat as my vision doubles. I blink it away, trying to focus on the matter at hand. She shrinks away, but has nowhere else to go. "I _know_ you know something!" I add.

"N-no, I—I don't! Honest!" She cries in a deeper voice than I would have expected. Bardy, her name tag reads. "A friend of mine mentioned someone like that before but—I just thought it was crazy nonsense!"

"This friend," I continue, turning the blade just beneath her jaw to catch her attention when her gaze drifts past me, to the action just behind me. "What was his name?"

"Carhart," Bardy grunts, craning her head in an attempt to put some distance between herself and my blade. To no avail. "His name was Carhart! He disappeared a couple months ago and no one's seen him since. They say he was killed by Mutants, but no one knows what happened to him. Please, that's all I know!" Knowing that's all I'll get out of her, I remove the blade, muttering, "Thanks." I stand wearily, watching her scurry away, then turn around in search of Smith.

_There!_

_Damn it! He's passed out!_

"Damn!" I groan, nudging the unconscious man's foot in disappointment. The fight ended a while ago, thank God, with most of the MRD's being dispatched and there's no one left for me to interrogate. Azazel's busy tying up the rest of the soldiers and Rogue will be too busy sulking to be of use to me. I place a hand on my head, cold with sweat, and mutter, "I wanted to question him."

"Why not just wait till he wakes up?" Asks Tony, rubbing a sore spot on his back where he fell trying to climb down from the rig he'd scaled earlier.

"There's no time." I sniff, searching for anything paper-like that might be this list everyone keeps referring to. All I get are weapons, which may just come in handy soon. I don't know how much strength I have left after all that. "They'll have back-up here any minute. We need to get moving." I stand, stomach doing summersaults and dust myself off, asking, "Where's Ro—?"

Sneaking up on someone when their back is turned is, in my opinion, one of the lowest things you can do in a fight. Especially when they think they're safe or that they can trust you. So when Rogue's bare hand latches onto the back of my neck, it feels like that much more of a betrayal.

It also feels like excruciating pain.

I fall in blind agony, crumpling to the ground on my hands and knees. It was only a four second touch but it feels like I just harpooned myself! It takes a moment before I'm able to register arms around me, pulling me up, and a moment longer before I can hear again, "Elizabeth!" I hear Azazel calling, but I can hardly hear him for the screaming that fills my ears, but it's not mine.

"What's wrong?" Asks Tony, further away. "W-what's happening?"

I moan slightly, a hand at my neck where the sting of her touch continues to throb, and try to push Azazel away, murmuring through my daze, "What—who's…screaming?" I manage to open my eyes all the way, able to think clearly at last, but my brain seems to shut down once more when my eyes fall upon the source of the screaming.

It's Rogue. Her eyes are glowing ultraviolet and they're impossibly wide, blind with some unseen horror. She presses her palms into her eyes and stumbles back crying, "Help! I—I'm falling! Somebody help me!" Before I know what I'm doing, I break out of Azazel's arms and run to her, moving to take her face in my hands but I pull myself up short, realizing that touching her will only make things worse.

"Rogue—Rogue, honey," I say desperately, taking hold of her arms, careful not to touch her skin. I can hardly stand but adrenaline and panic seem to be keeping me up. "You're _not_ falling. It's just a memory! _My_ memory!" It was after I'd accidentally astral projected in my bedroom. I'd hidden in the bathroom, panicking as my hands slowly began to disappear against my will. Then, I suddenly began to phase through the floor, and no one was there to help me. The floor had just reached my waist before I was able to pull myself up.

I was twelve.

Rogue begins to calm down, but just when it seems everything will be fine, her eyes fill with tears, "I'm sorry! I—" She breaks away from me, drawing a trembling hand to her mouth, and cries, "I didn't mean to…**Evangeline!**"

My little sister! She must be remembering the time I accidentally possessed my younger sister's body. And almost couldn't get out. She's absorbed all my memories, the stupid girl! What was she thinking?! "Rogue," I say urgently, close to tears myself. "You _have_ to block it out. Don't think about the fear. Try to remember to good times!" I wrack my brain, trying to summon up some fond memory to keep her away from the bad ones. "Remember, when—when we went to the carnival with Dad? Think you can remember that?"

"Dad…" She pants, her eyes still glowing but not as brightly. She might be coming back. I just hope she doesn't accidentally astral project. I don't even think she knows how. Her emotions are running rampant and astral projection requires concentration and focus. Both of which, she is sorely lacking. "I…remember…"

"Yeah," I say with a false laugh. "Evan ate so much cotton candy that she got sick and she had to go home with Mom. But Dad took us on the merry-go-round for the rest of the night so we wouldn't miss out. Remember?"

"Yes," She gasps, a smile touching her lips. "Yes, I—Oh, Daddy…" The smile fades slowly, "Why—why won't he," She sniffs, eyes filling with water once more. "Why won't he look at me anymore? Why do they hate me?! I—I didn't _do_ anything wrong!"

My heart squeezes painfully. I remember that, too. "Rogue…"

She suddenly staggers backward, jerking away from me, and cries, "What's happening?! Why are you doing this? No! No, I—you—! How could you—?!" She squeezes her glowing eyes shut suddenly, knotting her hands in her hair, and sinks to the ground, moaning, "I don't want to see anymore. M-make—it stop! _Make it stop!_" She suddenly gives a terrible scream and I find myself moving backward, a hand coming over my mouth. She's being bombarded by all of my worst memories at once. She can't control it. She can't distinguish her own memories from mine.

And I can't help her.

"Someone—" I croak, desperately; lost. "Someone help her. Someone _do_ something!"

As always, Azazel seems to be the first one who knows what to do. One blow to the head is all it takes to knock her unconscious; one blow is all it takes to end the nightmare and plunge us all into complete silence. He doesn't allow her to hit the ground, easing her fall to keep her from busting her head open, but for the moment, she looks to be at peace. But I—I can't stop shaking.

Tony moves to stand behind me, saying, "Teenagers." He kneels down beside me while Azazel picks up Rogue, and offers his hand, saying, "Come on. You said they'd be back, right?" I nod in response, rendered silent by my own guilt. Azazel approaches with Rogue draped over his arms, and says softly, "We should leave soon. Are you able to stand?" Again, I nod; this time with more conviction. I get to my feet, using my blades for support, then say firmly, "Let's go."

It takes more than a few jumps before Azazel gets tired again and we're forced to travel on foot. I take point, with Azazel covering the rear and Tony (carrying Rogue this time) in the middle. "You remember the way back, yes?" Asks Azazel in a low whisper as we take refuge in a dark alley. It's still early so hardly anyone is out. But you never know who might be waiting just around the corner.

"Yes." I whisper back, shaking off the dizziness that keeps my stomach in knots. I remember well. "Let's move."

Luckily, we aren't followed back to the Institute. We reach the golden gates, tired and cold but relatively unharmed. It would seem the MRD gave up on trying to catch us. But they'll be back. Sooner or later. For now—

It's just good to be home.

* * *

**Who can guess how many times the word "Matter" was used in this chapter? Just for the lolz. Anyway, stay tuned for the next installment of the New Threat! Until next time...**

**~THESCRIBE!;D**


	9. Chapter 9 The Welcome Wagon

**It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, wait no longer! Here's the next chapter of "The New Threat." Thanks for reading and Enjoy;D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words.**

Chapter 9: The Welcome Wagon

"Well…" States Hank McCoy, looking from myself and Azazel to Logan with a nervous smile lined with sharp teeth. He's still wearing his gray sweats and white nightshirt, and his bright, farel eyes carry large, blue bags underneath them. He must have just woken up. Hank scratches his ear with a clawed hand, asking awkwardly, "Isn't this a coincidence?"

"I'll say," Grunts Logan with a disproving look from me to Azazel and back. I shrivel under his gaze, bombarded by far too many memories, thoughts, and worries at once to be even vaguely surprised to see him. He still carries his traveling luggage in one burly hand and his motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. His brown eyes are on me. Looking into them, all I can see is the blue of another's. "Long time no see."

"No kidding," I say stiffly, tiredly; nearly passed out with fatigue and hypothermia. "Listen, It's cold, we're all tired, and Rogue's injured. Let us in and I'll explain everything." No promises. "Promise."

"Rogue?" Ask Hank and Logan in unison, looking past Azazel and I, and we part so that they can see the unconscious teenager still fast asleep in Tony's wavering arms. His face is red and his eyes are nearly shut with the effort of holding the teen up. He takes a shaky step forward, grunting, "_Yeah,_ can I come in now? I'm gonna drop her."

Hank hurries forward, his big blue shoulders nearly knocking Azazel and I over, and takes Rogue from Stark's grasp, saying, "Come in, come in! Make yourselves at home."

"Thank you, Hank." I glance around the warm living room, noticing that no one else is up and ask, "Where is the Professor?"

"Asleep." Answers Logan on Hank's behalf as we follow the blue behemoth down into the infirmary. There are questions on everyone's lips at the moment, but the general worry over Rogue has everyone walking on eggshells. "I got here a little earlier than expected. Didn't want to wake the old man up."

"Funny you should choose to come back at four in the morning, then." Retorts Azazel stiffly. I cut him a sharp look, " 'They can still kick us out, you know.' " I warn telepathically, but he just rolls his eyes, flicking them up and to the right, before muttering back, " 'They can try.' "

"That's why I said," Quips Logan back, completely unaware of our silent conversation. "_I got here earlier than expected."_

"So you're on the run, too." I state, keeping my stance between the two in an attempt to mediate even though _none of us_ are on good terms currently. "Did the MRD flag you down?"

"Somethin' like that," Is Logan's vague reply as we all pile into the elevator leading down into the infirmary. He lifts a hand and lightly brushes a finger against my cheek, where a bruise has no doubt left its mark where I was hit several times tonight."Is that what happened to you?" He gives the three of us the once over, taking in our outfits with a smirk, "Or do you guys just like to match for the laughs?"

"If by _matching_ you mean _surviving—" _Snaps Azazel, glaring down his nose at Logan with general dislike. "Then, da, this was the idea." Logan narrows his eyes, meeting the challenge head on (_didn't you guys used to be friends?!_) and Hank tosses me a sidelong, worried glance. I just shrug, hoping they'll take their cock contest _outside _the elevator.

"Boy you guys are loads of fun!" Exclaims Tony, wedged between myself and Hank, "Buuut may I ask that you all take the colossal sticks out of your collective asses? I thought you guys were all on the same team here! Damn," He mutters to himself more than anyone else. "And I thought the_ Avengers_ were bad."

"That's right," Murmurs Hank excitedly, turning and nearly clocking Tony in the face with Rogue's boot as he does so, to say, "You're Ironman, correct?"

At this, Tony stands a little straighter. "The one and only."

"I was meant to meet with you once," States Hank good naturedly. "to discuss the Avenger's stance on Mutants and the recent laws being passed limiting and/or infringing upon Mutant rights."

"Oh really?" Asks Tony, already bored. " Hm, I don't seem to remember meeting your big, blue acquaintance."

"Y-yes," Is Hank's awkward reply. "Unfortunately I was cancelled at the last minute due to—as your assistant called it—the Hangover Morning Blues. The "Sorry we missed you" gift basket , however, was delicious!"

Tony clears his throat, suddenly looking quite small, but before he has to suffer a response, the doors open and we all hurry out. All except for Azazel.

I stop as the others continue on, frowning, and ask telepathically, " 'What? What's wrong?' "

" 'This place…' " Azazel's eyes scan the blindingly-white halls hesitantly, his tail curling irritably behind him, and says, quietly, almost-reluctantly, " 'It feels…wrong.' " He cranes his neck, staring down one particular hallway tensely while I chew on my lip, trying to decide what to tell him.

I decide on the truth.

" 'That's because this is where I died.' " I say gently, holding the elevator door open with my hand, and beckoning with the other. He looks down at me sharply, alarm shining brightly in those icy eyes of his, but I merely offer up an unfortunate smile, and say, " 'But that's an old story. Now, come on. Rogue needs us.' "

He reluctantly follows and we find the group a short ways down the hall in the nearest infirmary room, looking around for us. "Now," Says Hank, having finished laying Rogue on the infirmary bed. "Tell me what happened."

"She absorbed my powers," I say, studying the teenager's face restlessly. Her face betrays no emotion, but I can only imagine the turmoil just beneath the surface. "But more specifically…" I hesitate. "My memories. She had been fighting with some Mardy when I stopped her. She was—" I breathe a sigh, guilt ebbing at me. "Angry that I left and wanted to know why. Eventually, she got her way. Just not in the way I would have liked." I turn an accusing eye to Hank and Logan, asking, "How could you let her leave the Institute, anyway?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Grunts Logan. I guess he didn't know she'd gone either.

"It was her choice, I'm afraid." Says Hank stoically as he begins checking Rogue's vitals, his hands avoiding skin wherever necessary. "No one could stop her. Or_ reason_ with her. She felt she needed a new start." Hank looks between myself and Logan knowingly, adjusting his glasses with his claws, "You of all people should understand that."

"Now," He continues while we look away, embarrassed. "Can you tell me what put her to sleep?"

I pat Azazel's shoulder vaguely, thoroughly enjoying the start that he gives at my touch, "You can take that one."

Something else has my attention.

My vision has gone blurry, my hearing soft. A light glow has begun to edge its way into my line of sight, disappearing down the hall. Traces. Traces of a time long passed. I follow the glow, ignoring everything and everyone else around me. I can hear echoes. Voices speaking urgently.

I soon am able to make out recognizable figures in the glow. I can see my own body lying bloody and dying on the floor, a sizable hole pouring my life out on the floor. There are people running around, trying to figure out what to do, while the Monster (the man responsible for my death) attempts to make an escape. I look on curiously. I hadn't seen this part due to the fact that I was—you know—_dying._ I hadn't realized that Josef the Monster had also tried to take out the Professor! Or that it was _Logan_ who ended the Monster's life.

"What are you seeing?" I hear him asking behind me. Logan and the Professor are the only ones (that I know of) who know that I can see these things. These traces. Fragments of memory. Logan's voice comes to me in a muffled whisper, but I know he's speaking normally. So I say evenly, "The night that I died. It was you who killed Josef."

"I did." Is his firm reply.

Keeping my back to him, I cross my arms, watching as the memory starts to fade away into the past, where it belongs. "Even back then you were there for me," I say softly. "From the moment I died, to the night I first woke up." My voice becomes thick with emotion, thinking of the way I just up and left without so much as an explanation or a goodbye. "And I just…" My words trail off pathetically. Back when I first left, it seemed like the right thing to do. But now, seeing the effect it's had on everyone, I'm beginning to have doubts.

Logan takes a deep breath behind me, saying wearily, "If anyone knows what it's like to need an escape, it's me. I never could stay in one place long. But I always end up back here." I swallow the lump in my throat, but find I can't quite speak yet. I'm sure Logan doesn't just hightail it out of here whenever he feels like it. He's just trying to make me feel better, damn him. I prefer it when he's angry. He's the only one who will give it to me straight. No bullshit. That's what I always liked about him. And then here I am, constantly running from my problems only to create a million more.

"Listen," Logan says suddenly. "I know what he means to you. Azazel." He clarifies while I try to calm the frantic beating of my heart. "And I'm not gonna stand in the way of that. Might not look like it, but he's a good friend a' mine. And he never stopped carin' about you. Neither did I. And I ain't about to stop now."

"Logan, I—" I stop, unable to say what I must. His words go beyond touching. But there are just too many thoughts cramming in my mind all at once: confessions, questions, random memories of our escapades together... I wouldn't even know where to begin.

Thankfully, Logan spares me the pain of having to actually _say _something and, instead, brings me in for a hug. At first, I give a start, and attempt to pull away; not wanting to get too friendly after recent events. But eventually, I relent. I give a soft moan, letting him hold me, and let the memories, the questions, the guilt just fade away. He isn't mad at me.

Not yet, anyway.

_No! Don't think like that!_ I tell myself sternly. _No one has to know. Now get your act together!_

"I missed you," I murmur into his chest. "I missed the Institute…I missed the _kids._"

"Yeah, well," He smirks, pulling back to look at that bruise on my face again, touching a hand to my cheek carefully as he says, "I think it's safe to say we missed you, too." I allow myself to smile, and he scoffs at me, saying, "Don't beat yourself up. You didn't sign a contract, you know."

"Not that I can recall." I groan, massaging the bridge of my nose tiredly. I must look like a hot mess right now. I certainly _feel_ like it. "Care to tell me what I missed?"

"Would that I could." Grunts Logan, fixing a hand in his bushy hair. "I haven't exactly been up-to-date myself."

I smirk, inhaling deeply, then pat his arm as I turn to head back to the infirmary room, saying, "Then this should be interesting for both of us."

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," States Hank from the love seat closest to me, his clear, articulate voice effectively jolting me out of my daze. I'd nearly fallen asleep! Not good. I still don't know if Magneto has me hooked up to a respirator or not. Without which, I'd probably stop breathing. "You were helping Magneto _steal_ shipments from Stark Industries?"

All eyes turn to me; some accusatory, others inquisitive. I stare back, purse my lips, then give a tired shrug, "Pretty much. Yeah." When they continue to stare at me, I sigh and sit up, saying, "It was the only way I could get close to Erik and keep an eye on what he was doing. And as far as I'm concerned, he wasn't in the wrong this time." Before anyone can object to that or leap out of their panties, I hurry on to say, "Kelly and Trask have been shipping in some dangerous tech to the Bayville area. We've just been slowing them down."

"Not as much as you would think, unfortunately." Hank says earnestly. "Sentinels and the weapons used to hunt mutants have become far more potent over the years. I fear physical action will no longer be good enough if we are to protect ourselves." Hank leans forward, removing his glasses, and looks at us each in turn, his eyes lingering on Logan before he delivers one hell of a _strange_ proclamation, "It's time to take political action."

* * *

**_But wait, there's more! Coming up soon! Until next time!_**

**_~THESCRIBE!;D_**


	10. Chapter 10 Catching Up

**Again, thanks for the patience. Been doing a lot of revising lately. Suggestions and critiques are welcome. Thanks and Enjoy;D**

Chapter 10: Catching Up

_Previously, on the New Threat:_

"_Not as much as you would think, unfortunately." Hank says earnestly. "Sentinels and the weapons used to hunt mutants have become far more potent over the years. I fear physical action will no longer be good enough if we are to protect ourselves." Hank leans forward, removing his glasses, and looks at us each in turn, his eyes lingering on Logan before he delivers one hell of a strange proclamation, "It's time to take political action." _

Political?

….Seriously?

"You're kidding." Logan scoffs, but Azazel too leans forward, looking interested. _There goes that tail again. Swish, swish, swish…_

"How do you mean?" I ask, genuinely curious and trying hard to keep myself from getting distracted.

Becoming suddenly _very_ excited, Hank rises, saying eagerly, "There is a Summit in the works; a gathering where Humans and Mutants alike will come together to speak out against the atrocities occurring right here in Bayville."

"Atrocities?" Inquires Azazel, sitting across the room from me, where I sit, stretched out languidly, on the gray love seat. I meet his eye vaguely but when he looks back, I can't quiet read him. I'm not even sure what to feel right now. Am I mad at him? Am I…_not_ mad at him? Who knows? I certainly don't. Not with my eyelids drooping and my head growing heavier by the second.

"Raids, hunts, abductions," Hank lists, a haunted look flitting across his blue face. Age lines crease his forehead and his shoulders hunch slightly. I take it he's seen some shit. "Need I say more?"

"The Institute has volunteered to offer up a number of our brightest students to speak on our behalf. Warren has already publicly come out and our very own students have rallied for equality at school. It's—" Hank laughs to himself, a proud smile on his lips. "Really very inspiring."

"But will it be enough?" I ask, sitting up at last with a heavy groan. My face is pounding in spite of the meds Hank gave me. There's not much to be done about the lacerations on the inside of my cheek from where Iron Helm and Azazel both struck me, and my constant probing of the injury with my tongue certainly isn't helping._ Where's the alcohol when you need it? For medicinal purposes, of course. _"Change doesn't just happen, Doctor. African American's worked for _centuries_ to gain their civil rights and homosexuals are _still _struggling to gain some recognition." Times may have changed but not as much as everyone likes to think. "Kelly won't wait for _Mutant Pride_ before he launches his attack."

"I think you've been around Magneto for too long." States Logan in a low tone, and I narrow my eyes at him in response, to which he simply shrugs from where he stands, leaning against the doorframe—not unlike the first time we met. Maybe he's right. I've been around Erik and Mystique for so long, talking about how war is just around the corner and how we need to strike first, yadda, yadda, yadda, that it's practically become a reality for me. Even so…

"You can't deny there's some truth to it." I grumble, getting up and stretching my legs while I try to locate the booze. "These raids, these-these _abductions._" I shake my head when I try one of the cupboards only to find it full of files and other work-shit. "They won't stop. Kelly won't wait. And neither will Magneto. This Summit seems to me like the perfect place to launch an attack." The perfect chance for Kelly to cross a few Mutants of his List. I turn to Hank, tiredly, "How many of your students will be attending?"

"That remains to be determined." Is Dr. McCoy's reluctant response, watching me cross the room to rummage an intangible hand through several cabinets, to no avail. "But Myself, Storm, Warren, and Jean are definitely on their rosters." Jean, the friendly, red headed telepath who double majors in telekinesis...Yeah, that sounds about right.

"And the Professor?" Logan asks, moving to sit on the arm of the couch; the same one that Tony is currently snoozing on right now. But Hank flinches, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "I—" He says hesitantly. "Do not think that would be wise."

Uh-oh. I pause and rise slowly, recognizing that tone.

"What d'you mean, Hank?"Snaps Logan urgently, his dark grown eyes fastening on Hank like a predator zeroing in on its' pray. It's times like these that Logan reminds me, alarmingly, of his half-brother. Not a welcome thought. When Hank doesn't answer right away, Logan gets up and crosses to Dr. McCoy, saying, "Hank, what—where is the Professor?"

"He—Hasn't been in his right mind lately." Hank sighs tiredly while Azazel and I exchange uneasy glances. _What's been going on since we've all been gone?!_ "His mind has steadily become…unstable. Emma thinks this may be the work of a telepath, trying to interfere with his abilities. Alas, our attempts to locate this telepath have been futile at best."

"Cerebro—" Logan begins but Hank intercedes immediately, saying dejectedly, "Cerebro has been on the fritz ever since the Professor has."

"Could it have something to do with the Summit?" I say, knowing I'm really pressing this but feeling like I must. "Maybe someone is trying to hide something."

"Whatever it is," Logan says sharply, running a hand through his ear-like hair. "It's gotta be something big." He starts toward the door, his boots making heavy thumping sounds against the carpet. "I wanna talk to Charles—"

"Please," Hank says urgently, moving to stop him from leaving the lounge. I get to my feet uneasily, but Azazel and Tony remain couch-bound. Hank dives in front of Logan—quite nimbly, I might add—and holds up his hands pleadingly. "He's been finding it increasingly difficult to get to sleep lately." Hank continues, shaking his head wearily with his hands on Logan's shoulders. His own shoulders hunched, Hank looks up at Logan through red-tinted, watery eyes, "Don't wake him up." He looks on the verge of tears! I didn't realize how exhausted he is. Even for the late hour!

It really _is _bad.

"A-alright," Logan relents, placing a firm hand on Hank's shoulder. "Alright. I—ah," He brings a hand up to his neck, glancing over at me once with a similar look of discomfort that I must have right now, "I think I'm gonna get some sleep."

"Perhaps we all should." Hank agrees, relieved, looking to Tony who continues to snore, undisturbed, on the couch. "_He _has the right idea."

An awkward silence passes between us before Hank finally offers to show Stark to our respective rooms, carrying Tony in his arms to one of the guest bedrooms. Following Logan's lead, I start to head up towards the last room I'd occupied during my stay nearly a year ago, but stop just short of the door when I realize it was Azazel's old room, too. I curse softly, and start to turn away to find my old, old room (from way back when), but am pulled up short by the sound of the door opening softly behind me.

"You—are welcome to stay here, if you wish."

I keep my back to him, trying to think of what to say before I finally settle for, "There are other rooms I can stay in. Thanks."

I start to leave again when I feel his hand on my shoulder. I turn around, looking him dead in his pale blue eyes and immediately feel a wave of guilt wash over me, though I'm not sure if it's for leaving when I did, for injuring him back on the ship, or—or what. Luckily, he speaks out for me, saying gravely, "You are afraid to sleep, aren't you?"

I glance away, caught, and cross my arms, saying softly, "What makes you say that?"

"I can see it—" Is Azazel's firm reply, catching my eye with the slight tilt of his head and the touch of his fingers on my chin. "In your eyes. " He pauses a moment, before saying gravely, " 'He still has your astral body, doesn't he?' "

My breath catches but I can't put words to my fears. Instead, I nod. Azazel straightens, lowering his voice to ask, "When do we leave?" I back away, moving his hand off my shoulder. This is exactly why I didn't say anything!

"You're _not_ coming with me—" I start to argue, but he persists, getting _that _look, and saying, "You need me. Do not pretend otherwise."

I shake my head stubbornly , "Azazel, I really don't want to involve anyone else. _I'm_ the one who has to deal with Erik. And besides, you have Stark to look after and your _son_—"

"They will manage without me." He says right off. "It is time to move on." My look just now must have been murderous because he quickly adds, "From Tony, I am meaning!" He sighs, putting a hand to his head and says tiredly, "Kurt is a big boy. Almost grown—"

"And he needs his _father_." I say sternly before muttering, "A lot more than I do."

Azazel purses his lips, crossing his arms over his chest, then asks haughtily, "And how will you be travelling to Genosha?"

"I—" Shit. "I'm sure I can figure something out…" Even as I say it, I know it's no use. I don't want to involve the X-Men in this. It's not their fight and they have bigger things to worry about than my misplacement of my own flesh and blood. But I can't very well snag the jet without anyone noticing. And I don't know Tony well enough to catch a ride with him either. "And just how do you propose to get me there?" I snap, grasping at straws at this point. "You're exhausted and you can only travel so far. Genosha is miles out in open water! Although," I murmur, thinking aloud as I say, "If I got caught or something happened, you _could_ teleport us out…" I give a frustrated groan, pinching the bridge of my nose with my finger tips, but quickly recoil when he reaches for me, a look of vague concern on his prominent features.

"Stay for now." He says, dropping his hand. "Rest. He will not let you die in your sleep." He adds, as if reading my mind. Just another concern I've tried to sweep under the rug. To little avail, I see. "It is not his way. Tomorrow, we will go."

To be honest, the idea of going on a journey with him doesn't sound half-bad. Still, I can't help but feel reluctant nevertheless. The last time we did go on a "little adventure" together it didn't exactly end well. It never really does, come to think of it.

"And _why _would you want to help me?" I ask. When he gives me that look again (we all know the one), I roll my eyes and say exasperatedly. "Fine! Tomorrow then. But not a word to anyone else, got it?" I add as I start to turn away once more, but he just shakes his head, waving me off with a vague, "Da, da!" Before turn back to his room on a limp.

I hesitate, my eyes fixated on his calf, where I cut him back on Stark's boat, and I call out to him before I can stop myself, saying, "I'm sorry." He pauses, probably sensing that I'm apologizing for more than I'm willing to admit, and looks back at me, eyebrows slightly raised. I shift on my feet, the words caught in my throat before finally adding, "About your leg. " I blush, remembering the way I'd toyed with him on the ship. "I should've stopped once I knew it was you."

"I have been wondering where you learned to fight." Is his cheeky reply. A smirk tugs at his lips as he says, "I could have killed you."

"Yeah, that's what _you_ think." I mutter right back, smirking myself. And, for a moment, we just sort of stare at each other, wondering who the other is; wondering what it is we _see_ in each other; wondering why we're still smiling (at least, _**I**_ am). And then he's stepping aside, nodding his head towards the room, and I'm following him inside.

And then we just—start talking.

We sit opposite each other on the floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets with an electric candle (what's that about?) between us, watching the sun rise just outside the window. It's getting colder and snow has begun to fall lightly outside, almost making me forget just how exhausted I am. Luckily, Azazel has a way of distracting me without even trying. When I'm not just staring at him, imagining just doing—awful, awful things with him, he's interrogating me, or side stepping my questions, forcing me to probe more insistently to get answers.

He asks about my newly acquired fighting skills, admitting (very, very vaguely) to being a little peeved at being matched by me (and nearly defeated by me, but I _suppose_ neither of us knows who's the better swordsman _just_ yet), and I tell him about Tarina and her Deadlocke tango; about the fighting classes, and how I got into the raids before finally asking what he was searching for when he met Stark.

He looks at me, his smirk fading, then reclines back against the bed, the light from the window casting a light, blue glow on his deep-red skin, and quietly admits, "I was doing as you said." He looks to me in all seriousness and says, "I was looking for the Psylocke." He says with unusual emphasis, his accent coming out even thicker than usual. _Hot._ "But—" He sighs, running a hand through his hair, nearly down to his shoulders now and still filled with sand and seawater, before saying, "Like I have told you, there was not enough information to find him."

"Her." I correct, with an apologetic smile. I really didn't leave him much to go off of…My bad? "And—maybe it was best that you didn't." I say truthfully. He gives me an inquisitive look and I inhale deeply, feeling there's an explanation that needs to be said here. "You—made it clear when we first—" I grapple for the appropriate word. "_Met,_ I suppose…that….you didn't_ want_ to remember. You wanted to know. You wanted _me_ to _tell _you. And I…" I shake my head slowly, at a loss.

" 'You what?' " At the hint of desperation in Azazel's mental urging, I feel a deep pang in my chest and say thickly, slowly, "I was _so_…angry and upset and-and—" I shake my head, sighing, "I just wanted things—between us at least—to be the way they were." Whatever _that_ was. "And they just—" I stop, touching a hand to my chest as my heart continues to squeeze. "When you just appeared and-and didn't even _know _me…It _hurt,_ Azazel. But it wasn't fair." I add firmly, looking out the window to escape his penetrating stare. "It-it wasn't fair for me to keep that information from you and then—" I laugh slightly, embarrassed at my own actions, "_Blame _you for not finding out yourself. And for that," I say earnestly, meeting his eye once more. "I am sorry. "

He takes a moment, mulling my words over for a moment, before he finally says honestly, "I have not changed, Elizabeth. I have no wish to remember the past," I avert my eyes, chewing on my lip, but he lifts a hand and lightly turns my face to him, lowering his head to say firmly and resolutely, "_But I want to know._ I _do_ want you to tell me. It is—selfish, yes." He concedes, letting his hand fall. "But there are some things that…" He pauses, at a loss for words himself.

So, I speak for him, "You just don't want to remember." I nod gravely, my hand tracing my cheek, where thin scars _would_ be if I were reunited with my body once more. "Yeah, I understand that."

A heavy silence follows, leaving us both to our private thoughts before another question finally—thankfully—surfaces, "What did you mean…when you said we are 'even now?'"

I raise my eyebrows with a slight, "Oh!" Then think about it, remembering back seventeen years—no, eighteen— years in the past to where we really first met, back in my Community College in Colorado. "The—ah, first time we actually met, you _kind of_ attacked me." I explain everything, from the brawl in the hallway, to the deal with Magneto and the early Brother Hood, all the way to the first couple weeks I spent at Erik's mansion, learning from Emma, getting my ass kicked by Mystique, and even the small moments Azazel and I had together before the real shit went down.

"You fell through the ceiling." Azazel repeats, more as an incredulous statement than a question. "You with the ghost powers and the flying? The_ Ghostgirl_ fell through the ceiling."

"I wasn't as good at it _then_ as I am now!" I object, giving him a light shove on the arm as an irritatingly adorable grin spreads across his face. We've gotten a bit more cozy now since the stories first began and we're both finding it more and more difficult to keep quiet as the sounds of kids getting up for school starts to fill the halls. _He _insists that he couldn't have been that "soft" and _**I**_ insist that he was a right _jerk_ from the start. Perspective, am I right? "_Anyway," _I articulate, getting back to my story._ "_I ended up falling through and—"

"I saved the day?" Azazel scoffs, tapping the tip of my nose with his finger. I roll my eyes, snapping, "You kept me from falling on my face, alright?" I reach up a hand, sweeping a bit of sand out of his hair. "Don't get too cocky. After that," I continue, noticing vaguely how touchy we've gotten with each other. Why was I mad again? "Things got a lot worse."

"Worse?" He repeats, his tone sharpening and the humor disappearing from his eyes at once. "How?" I take it this is probably the stuff he's been pondering over. The bad stuff.

"We—ah…" My own tone sobers, remembering exactly when "the bad stuff" first began. "We lost Donovan to the man you know as Sabretooth. It was part of a plot to kidnap Tarina, the Mutant Seeker."

"The one who teaches you?"

"_Taught_ me," I correct automatically, noticing the way our hands are touching. Just slightly. Just enough. "And yes, the same. And that's how we found out what would have happened if we'd refused to join you." I hesitate ever so slightly before saying carefully, "There was a secret prison below the mansion, where people just like us were being held prisoner for refusing to cooperate with the Brother Hood. As you could probably guess, Glenn and I didn't take it too well."

Azazel reacts in a way much different than what I expected. He frowns slightly, then asks the absolute worst question, "Why?"

"Why?!" I exclaim, sitting up a little straighter in my incredulity, and, in doing so, move my hand away from his. "Because it-it was inhumane! They were being locked up like animals by their own kind. And Glenn and Donovan and I had joined the Brother Hood under false pretenses. All of you _lied _to us. If we had known people were being held prisoner—"

"You would have refused." Interrupts Azazel stoically, keeping his voice low and even as he carefully draws his hand closer to mine, his fingers resting lightly over mine. "I would have captured you and become your enemy. And you would have been taken prisoner just like the rest."

I purse my lips, my stomach doing tiny summersaults while my heart does its own little dance in my chest. I didn't realize he could still make me feel this way. A simple touch, a certain tone of voice, a faint smile. And then there's me, "And I would've kicked your ass." I grumble, greatly disliking the idea of being his or Emma's or Magneto's prisoner.

Azazel leans towards me, a knowing smirk on his lips and says teasingly, "I thought you were not as good as you are now."

I can't help it. I burst into a grin and prepare to hit him again, saying, "Oh, shut up, C—"

_Oh, god. _

I blink, my words caught in my throat, then say as my fingers twitch nervously under his, "No—you're right. I, ah," I give a breathy laugh, trying desperately to recover. "I was pretty bad." _Oh, god. Oh, god._ "We were attacked and I-I couldn't protect Tarina. She was taken, but we managed to save Donovan. But the trust…" I shake my head, still sweating from what my mind interprets as a near-confession. "It was just gone. The group split up after that." I say shortly, not wanting to get into too much detail on that. "Donovan, Glenn, and I joined the X-Men to try and save Tarina and the Brother Hood left."

This time, it's Azazel's hand that moves away, "_**I**_ left."

I nod, avoiding his eye, "You were among them, yes." I say, placing both hands safely around my knees, drawn up to my chest, "But after that…things just started to fall apart. But," I say with a groan, getting up off the floor and stretching as the panic leaves my bones. I need to get out of here, stat. "All of that can wait. We need to leave before—."

Something explodes in the room before me, and I give a start and stumble back, tripping over—I don't know—_something _and I fall on one of the pillows nearby with a high-pitched, _ooph!_ Azazel half-rises, looking concerned (and more than a little amused) and I'm just about to wave him off when we both hear, a distinctly German, pubescent voice call out, "Father?"

Azazel hurries to his feet, stammering, "I—" He looks to me as I slowly get up, but I merely shrug, not knowing what to say. It's _your_ son! "We were—" But before he can even finish the hurried explanation, Kurt throws his arms around his father's waist and hugs him, before quickly stepping back, blushing furiously, "Sorry. I—I thought I heard your voice." I guess hugging your estranged father isn't exactly cool for a seventee—_eighteen_ year old boy.

Azazel laughs, ruffling his sons' hair with a steady, scarlet hand, and says, "I did not want to wake you." He looks to me, saying, "We will not be staying long."

I watch, pain stricken, as Kurt's' face falls, and he looks between myself and his dad, asking, "So soon? But you just got here!"

"_Actually,"_ I interrupt before Azazel has the chance to say anything. "We were thinking about staying a while longer. Catching up with some old friends." Azazel looks to me, confused, but, after receiving my "just fucking go with it" glare, he nods then says something in Russian and (much to my surprise) Kurt responds in Russian right back before teleporting from the room with a most excited smile.

I'm about to make a comment when Kurt suddenly teleports back into the room and practically shouts, "Oh, and hello Ms. Hawthorne! It is good to see you again!" And then he's gone again. For a moment, we're both quiet, and then I say, "So, you're teaching him to speak Russian?"

"Mm." Azazel nods, readjusting the ridiculous work jacket with steady hands. "He learns quickly."

"What did you tell him?" I ask, curious.

Azazel smiles to himself, an uncharacteristically soft look, and says, "I told him to get dressed so that I could take him to school."

Trying to mask the "Aww Factor" creeping in, I scoff lightly and say, "You really have gone soft!" I turn to leave but he, predictably, stops me, asking, "What about your body? And Magneto?"

"It can wait." I say uneasily through a forced smile. "He won't just let me die, like you said. And besides," I add as I begin to step through the door (because who would want to just open one when they can phase through it?), "We're needed here."

* * *

**_There's been a lot of speculation as to what Nightshade actually looks like. Unfortunately I can't draw for shit and I find I can't exactly throw in a description without it seeming pretentious or forced so I'll just say that she's a healthy woman of a shorter stature with long-ish, thick, naturally curly hair, large, brown eyes, mocha-colored skin, and prominent Angelina Jolie lips (though less poofy if that makes sense). She looks like someone you'd see at your local supermarket but feel like she belongs on a movie screen. I hope that helps!_**

**_Until next time..._**

**_~THESCRIBE!;D_**


	11. Chapter 11 Not Your Color

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words. Thanks and Enjoy;D**

Chapter 11: Not Your Color

Staying has proved to be harder than I once thought.

The relatively warm welcome we receive is a nice gesture and all, seeing as my reunion with Rogue didn't go over too smoothly. But apparently everyone is pretty used to people just up and leaving on a moment's notice (Ahem, Logan!). Even so, I can't help but feel increasingly anxious; whether it be from the general lack of sleep or just the amount of painful secrets swirling about me at the moment.

I guess I'll just help myself to more alcohol-infused coffee!

"Now, Elizabeth, darling," Emma Frost purrs, still holding back a would-be bitch-slap as she raps her fingers on the table. The kids are still in the kitchen or in their rooms, getting ready for school and the adults have since put in a whole separate lounge/kitchen area for the rest of us to enjoy before the madness of taking the kids to school. "You _are_ planning on staying a while," She turns her sharp eyes to me, staring me down while I shrink in my seat, just trying to keep a steady hold on my coffee cup. "Aren't you?"

I open my mouth to say something, my neck growing hot under the stares of our companions, who have tuned in to Emma's interrogation, but she quickly interrupts, saying sweetly, "I mean, that's what you _said, _isn't it?" Again, I open my mouth to respond but she beats me to it, saying, "And besides, when was the last time we were all together at one time?" Logan, Azazel, Tony and Hank exchange glances, sensing the rather, um, _hostile_ tone Emma's voice has taken, and they all turn away at once and resume what they were doing as if they can't even see us (Tony has been quite interested in Hank's skillful knowledge on bio-mechanics). "I'm sure there's still _so much_ catching up to do!"

My coffee cup smacks on the table with a rough _clank! "Yes,_ Emma." I intercede, a little too loudly, before she can carry on. "_So much_ catching up!"

" 'I get it, alright?' " I tell her telepathically, massaging the bridge of my nose where a dull ache has begun to rear its ugly head. I've only just gotten comfortable, having taken a nice, relaxing shower and thrown on a decent pair of clothes. But now my anxiety is spiking right back up thanks to the raging telepath. " 'I shouldn't have left like I did. But I'm not going to leave now. At least…not _right_ now.' "

" 'And just _when_ were you going to tell _me _about these plans?' " She snaps, sitting up indignantly as she elegantly stirs a cup of hot tea with a silver spoon, a look of hurt flashing across her crystal blues. " 'You _are_ still technically my pupil.' "

" 'I know, Emma. It's just…' "

"_At-tut-tut!_" She interrupts aloud, making me jump in alarm. You can't just pop in and out of conversations like that! Especially not when one happens to take place within your mind…"All in good time!" She turns to Storm, quietly eating her toast in the corner. "Ororo?"

The white-haired, African goddess looks up with interest and mild surprise, "Yes?"

"We're going shopping today." Emma announces as she gracefully rises out of her seat and heads for the door, setting me on high alert. Shopping with Emma?

I think she's going to kill me…

"Sh-shopping?" I repeat numbly, leaping to my feet and following her along with Ororo; only to quickly double back for my spiked coffee.

"Well, not right away." She drones down the hall way, her heels tap-tap-tapping at a quick pace. I pass by the boys with a pleading look but Logan just waves his paper at me, Hank pretends to clean his glasses, and Azazel just smirks my way while Tony gives a teasing wave, knowing exactly what I'm in for.

Jerks.

"First," Emma continues, striding down the hall and nodding to the students she passes by. "We must drop off the kiddies, of course."

"Good morning, Ms. Frost!" Calls Shadow Cat, who has grown much taller than last I saw her, as she skips by us in the hall, carting a book bag with half of her things falling out the back. A stapler larger than the girl's fist falls onto the floor and Emma stoops down without a second thought to retrieve it, saying serenely, "Good morning, Ms. Pride."

"Kitty." I greet the teen once she finishes packing up her bag and she looks at me in shock, her grey eyes widening beneath a large, poofy bang. _My god, she's taller than me now! When did that happen?!_ She pushes the hair out of her eyes and a wide smile breaks out across her face. "I was _wondering_ when you'd get back!" Says Kitty breathlessly, having been running through the hall in an attempt to scrape up what's left of the massacre in the main kitchen. "Everyone thought you were on, like, some sort of _high-risk mission_ in another country, or something!"

I scoff to myself, "Close enough."

Suddenly, a stampede of kids rush by and we have to plaster ourselves against (and some of us into) the wall to avoid being trampled. "Single file! _Single file,_ for god's sake!" Emma barks at the students. "And no running in the hall!" Whether it's simply the authority in her voice or a mind trick of her own doing, the mob halts, looking slightly embarrassed with food still in their mouths and clothes/make up still being hastily thrown on. Having their full attention at last, Emma claps her hands and calls out, "Now, I want everyone with their respective chaperones' in fifteen minutes or you'll have Mister Logan to answer to! Or worse…" She gives a dramatic pause, taking on her diamond form with a sharp_ shhhhink! "Me."_

Whether they take the threat seriously or not, the kids get moving pretty quickly; some out of fear, some out of respect for their Head Mistress (oh, yeah,_ that_ happened shortly after the Professor became mentally unstable). We continue on and I let my hand linger on the big, wooden door at the entrance of the Institute, remembering. I look outside, where an entire entourage of cars and motorcycles have been lined up in a neat row, watching the students pile into each car while I try to figure out whose vehicle is whose. Kitty darts ahead along with another Mutant I don't recognize, diving into the back seat of Scotts' bright red something or other, much to Scott's chagrin and Jean's amusement.

I turn to Emma, saying, "I don't think I ever told you, but this whole mentor thing really suits you, _Head Mistress._"

"Yes," Emma agrees in a much softer tone, the pale light of the winter sky casting an angelic glow over her already-angel like features. "I rather like the sound of that." Emma gives me a stern glare, "But don't think you're off the hook just for that!"

I roll my eyes, " 'Of course not.' "

" 'You know, I can hear you!' "

" 'Oh, I know.' " I toss her a wink. " 'But that's part of the fun!' "

A crash in the distance makes us jump in alarm but it just turns out that a student "accidentally" knocked over a large school van…Oops?

"Oh, _**Eli!**_" Emma shouts in frustration, rushing forward along with a startled Storm. "What did I say about combusting in crowds?!"

I start over, a little worried but not entirely sure I'm even needed, seeing as the Emma seems to be doing a good job of handling the situation. Just as they manage to get the van tipped back the right way, Azazel and Kurt teleport onto the front yard together, both wearing their image inducers; both looking far too "normal" for my taste, but what can you do?

Kurt catches my eye and starts over with a friendly wave, saying in that adorable accent of his, "Hello again, Ms. Hawthorne! Will you be joining us?" He stops a foot or so away, already far taller than me, much like Kitty. "We have room for one more!"

Azazel comes up behind the teen, placing his hands on Kurt's shoulders and says smoothly, "The boy speaks truth."

I feel a blush creep across my face and glance away, murmuring, "Well…"

"Sorry," Interrupts Emma "Cock-blocking" Frost, looping her arm through mine. "She's spoken for." She waves her hand at the two and starts leading me away, saying, "Off you go, now! You don't want to be late for school!" Emma must sense my plummeted mood because she snaps irritably, "You two can play footsies all you want _later,_ love. We have important matters to discuss."

She breaks off of our discussion abruptly to usher the kids into her stylish Mercedes (Silver in color, naturally) and I reluctantly take the front seat, watching Logan and a young Asian girl take off on his motorcycle until Emma finally takes the driver's seat and sets off. We head down the drive, pass the gates, and start down a dirt path, now covered in snow, leading into town. A few minutes of silent driving passes before she finally says telepathically, " 'You're getting close to him again, I see.' "

I glance over at her as the chatter behind us increases, but make no reply. I don't have to, it turns out.

" 'You do know that he still doesn't remember you. ' "

" 'Of course I do.' " I retort a little snappishly, my gloved fingers curling in my lap. " 'That doesn't mean I can't…' " My voice trails off. But I'm sure she can fill in the blanks.

" 'I'm not saying I disapprove—' "

" 'Then what_ are_ you saying?' "

" 'That perhaps you're taking advantage of the situation.' " She replies blatantly, not even giving me the chance to scoff over the idea of "taking advantage" of Azazel, before she adds, " 'You left a bigger impact on him than you may have thought. Before I or even the _Professor_ got the chance to try to help him, he left in search of Psylocke on his own, with little to no information _about _her.' " She turns down a Christmas-y street with garlands thrown over street lights and stop signs and we pass a number of Santa's ringing bells in the street. An MRD van patrols the area, dark and ominous. " 'We attempted to track him down, to talk sense into him, but he was constantly on the move and impossible to pin down.' " Another Santa. Another MRD van. " 'I thought he'd drop _dead _before he returned to the institute.' "

We cruise past Barbara's Antiquity. A family hurries past the Police Department, where a group of MRD's stand idly by. I find myself ducking in my seat, wondering if they're already searching for Rogue, Azazel, Tony, and I. We arrive at the school and the kids pile out in droves while Emma puts the car in park, her temper flaring as she clutches the steering wheel with tight fists. She looks out the window, where Kurt has joined Kitty, Scott, Jean and others as they head into the school. " 'I ought to have known he would come back with _you._' "

" 'You can hold off on some of the internal monologue, Emma.' " I warn her, growing more than a little incensed at the accusatory tone in her voice. Like all of this is_ my_ fault. I know what I've done. But I still believe it was the right choice for me at that time. And I'm fully prepared to handle the repercussions of my actions.

" ' Oh, no, I _meant_ to say that.' " Emma retorts right back, turning to me with a stony glare. " 'He _deserves _to know the truth. I knew him far longer than you did and believe me, we owe him that much _at least_.' "

" 'I'm not disagreeing with you!' " I argue, tired of the verbal harassment. I didn't come here to get a lecture! Especially since I'm half dead from stress and sleep deprivation. " 'And—_as you may already know_—I've been doing just what you said. I'm_ helping_ him. _Not_ taking advantage of him!' " I scoff, still finding the idea absolutely ludicrous. " 'And I think he can handle himself, in any case. He went to find out that information for_ himself_—' "

" 'He went for you and you know it.' " Emma spits, looking me dead in the eye, daring me to say otherwise, like I fully intend to. " 'He wouldn't give a damn about those memories if he didn't think it would bring him closer to you.' "

" 'That's _not_ true, Emma!' " I hiss in response, my hands shaking with rage and exhaustion. We must be glaring up a storm at each other in this car because parents who pass by in their cars give us strange, sidelong glances, probably peeved that we're blocking the flow of traffic so that everyone has to go around us. But our melodrama is _far _more important than what anyone else has to do today; so suck it! " 'He doesn't remember you or Erik either.' " I continue, candidly ignoring the voice in my head that keeps reminding me that Azazel expressly said he doesn't _want _to remember. " 'Something happened that cut out a large part of his life and you can't blame me for_ him _wanting to find out!' "

" '_So _concerned!' " Frost croons mockingly. " 'And where was this _empathic reasoning_ while you were off _gallivanting_ with Magneto?' "

" 'I've already told you why I left.' " I reply sullenly, tired of having to defend myself to this woman. Of having to convince myself that I really did the right thing.

" 'Oh, because we all know you left to spy on Erik! ' "

That does it.

I open my door with a click and a huff, and climb out of the car, bending low to glower at her through hurt eyes, "I shouldn't have to explain why I left." I say aloud, blocking her out of my mind completely. "Least of all to you."

The car door opens as Emma gets out, peering over the hood of the car as she calls out, "Where are you going?!"

_I know where I'm going._

_And it's not with you._

* * *

"Hello," Greets the overly-friendly looking young woman with…blue hair (dyed, I'd say), through a wad of chewing gum that seems to be permanently lodged in her canines. She smacks it a few times, reminding me revoltingly of an MRD with a similar problem. "How may I help you?"

"Head Mistress Darkholm." I state bluntly, still seething from my fight with Emma. I fold my arms, feeling bare without my broad swords, seeing as I can't exactly walk around town with them in tow; not until I find a better way of stowing them like I have with my Harpoon cuffs, nestled snuggly under this deep purple sweater."She in?"

The woman peers at me curiously, "You a parent?"

Do I _look_ like a parent?

"Sure."

Apparently _Cindy_ the desk girl is either remarkably daft or just doesn't give a shit about her job because she just smacks her gum and says in a much less peppy voice, "You're in luck. She just got back from Honolulu."

I purse my lips, "Did she now?"

" I know," Snorts Cindy, mistaking my look for surprise. "Hard to imagine the old lady in a hula skirt, sipping pineapple martinis, eh?"

I smirk at that, "No kidding." I quip, but just as I do, Raven's sharp voice cuts across the hall, where her office resides, with a ruthless, "Cindy! Quit your babbling!" Her heavy footsteps echo through the hall until she emerges in the door way, saying, "I don't pay you to—" Her keen eyes fall on me and her voice fades out as a deadly smirk fades in. "_Ms. Hawthorne,"_ She greets me stiffly, removing her cat-lady glasses from her angular guise. "What a pleasure. I was expecting you."

"Naturally," Is my short response, taking in her purple pencil skirt and matching blazer, her graying-brown hair twisted up in a taut bun in contrast to my loose, unruly curls of a deeper, richer brown. I straighten, trying not to acknowledge the fact that we're both wearing purple *I shudder at the thought* and focus instead on the very real possibility that I've just walked (rather hastily) into a trap. "I hope I'm not imposing." I narrow my eyes wickedly, keeping a falsely sweet tone as I say, "I know how much you _hate_ that."

Her mouth twitches, her talon-like fingers curling into a bony fist at her side while the other gestures back through the hallway with an equally pleasant, "You know me well. Though not as well as you might think." She starts down the hall, clasping her hands behind her back, "Come. We have much to discuss, you and I."

So formal! Much different from her usual caddishness and snide remarks.

The second we get inside, I waste no time and quickly lock Mystique in a hold with one arm thrown across her shoulders in a choke hold, and my leg twisted through hers to prevent her from lashing out. Next, I draw up one of my throwing knives from my belt, positioning it firmly underneath her jaw. She's considerably taller than me but now that I have leverage (and weight) on her, she won't be able to attack without going down herself. She writhes against me a moment, taken aback, but she quickly composes herself, saying breathily, "Quick to the point, aren't we?"

"Cut the crap, Mystique." I hiss, keeping my voice down in case Cindy isn't as inept at her job as she seems and calls security. I don't see any wires or cameras; so I don't think we're being watched. "I want answers. _Now._"

I pause, kind of hoping she'll just fill in the blanks, but she just gives a sinister chuckle and says clearly, calmly, "What do you want to know?"

"My body." I state through gritted teeth, not giving her any leeway no matter how she twists and turns with discomfort. "You _know_ he has it!"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't." She grunts, her pulse beginning to pound harder beneath my wrist as her blood fights to circulate through her oddly angled body, "If only I could _think _clearer, I might be able to help you."

Figuring I really won't get anywhere by keeping this up, I let her go, stepping back quickly with my right Harpoon cuff raised in warning._ One wrong move, one press of a button, and this one is going in your throat,_ my look says. But she just shakes her head, rubbing her neck where my blade cut into her jaw, and says, "There now, isn't that better?" She sighs dramatically, fanning herself with a spidery hand, then crosses to a window, saying, "My, isn't it stuffy in here?"

I take a threatening step forward, certain she's going to attack at any second, but she just scoffs at me, saying, "It's just a window!" She throws it open then turns to me, growling, "Relax, will you? I'm just securing my health. I'd like nothing more than to put you away for attacking a school teacher in a public high school…" She lets the sentence linger while I consider my options. "Unfortunately," She sighs, crossing to her desk to take a seat. "Erik still wants you,_ for whatever reason."_

I can't help it, "Do you ever get tired of that?" I ask sweetly, taking a seat across from her with my arm draped over my crossed knee, still aimed—rather casually—at her face, "Just curious." I add when her glare spells MURDER.

"Curiosity killed that cat." Mystique hisses softly, leaning forward in her desk with her fingers laced rigidly before her. She tilts her head to the side, "I wonder if it would work a second time."

I lower my voice to a near whisper, once again having to get a grip when I begin to tremble with rage. "We're getting off the subject." I lean back in my chair, keeping my arm raised but my body seemingly relaxed. "I want to negotiate."

"Do you?" Mystique laughs derisively. Upon seeing my serious look, however, she straightens up, asking stoically, "How do you mean?"

"I want to know his terms." I state bluntly. "His stipulations. His inevitable ultimatum." I sit up a little straighter, never breaking Raven's stony-eyed stare, "What does he really want from me? And what does he intend to do with my body should I refuse?"

Mystique pauses, her face unreadable, then says in a low undertone, "Maybe you should ask him yourself."

"Is that why _you're_ here?" I ask, grazing the trigger of my Harpoon cuff with my finger. "To take me back?"

"No," States Mystique right off. "This goes _far_ beyond you, little girl. You still have no idea what he has in store. Erik only allowed you to scrape the bottom of the barrel with you and your little Scooby gang, thinking you're putting it all together when really, you've just allowed him more time."

"If I know so little," I say, a spike of fear shooting up my spine at the mention of my "Scooby gang," which can only mean Tarina and Aaron. "What's the point in keeping me?"

"You—" Mystique sighs heavily, muttering reluctantly, "Are an asset. We can't afford to lose you. Erik felt certain he could change you, make you see the right path."

"Erik knows I'd never do that—"

"Wouldn't you?" I blink, caught off guard by the honest question. "You were _so_ close, Ghostgirl. You really were." She laughs cruelly. "The truth was right in front of you all along but you just can't bear the thought that you might not be as saintly as everyone imagines. You've gotten too close to us, to Erik, to Domino. Even to me. You're more like us than you _ever_ were with the X-Men but you're too foolish to see it. But you will soon enough. Whether you like it, or not. Erik feels confident you'll come back to him when you're ready. _**I**_ don't have to do anything. I never did. You do it all yourself."

I stand up abruptly, incensed, and drop my wrist. Mystique remains in her seat, watching me calmly with a triumphant smile on her lips. I'm not getting anything out of her. And what I did, is practically useless. There are too many questions and only one answer. And I have no intention of turning myself in to Magneto. "Tell your boss I'm coming." I growl, heading for the door.

My hand just grasps the handle when I hear an ominous, "He already knows."

I exit the school grounds at a fast pace and find myself walking in step with Emma, who says evenly in that elegant English drawl of hers, "She wasn't lying."

"Way to announce yourself." I reply, getting in the passenger seat just as the bell rings on campus. I clench my trembling fists, my eye lids growing heavier and heavier by the second. "Tell me you read her mind."

"I couldn't." Is Emma's straight forward response, cranking up the heat with a blue, gloved hand. She drives with a steady hand into town, presumably in search of the shopping mall. "Raven, like yourself and Azazel, is very sensitive to telepathy. She would have sensed me in her mind immediately and she would have closed off completely. "

Makes sense. "So, what do you think?"

"I don't know," She sighs. "The unavoidable truth is that you will need to return to Genosha. The question is when and how." She looks to me. "You're skeptical. Why?"

I shake my head, smiling ruefully to myself, "I feel like that—that_ idiot _who keeps losing her keys." I laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. "Except I can't just change the locks and buy a new key! I was just getting used to dealing with that…_thing_ and I just can't help but feel _glad _that I don't have to. I mean, for _now._" I add, realizing that it's still my problem. If anything, it's an even _bigger_ problem now. "I feel so _helpless_ when I'm saddled with my physical form, constantly worrying about where I'm projecting or if I'll have enough _time _to astral project when an emergency arises." I groan in aggravation, pinching the bridge of my nose. This damned fatigue is making me feel stuffy. "I nearly _died _because of that!"

The car comes to an abrupt halt at a stop just short of the Bayville mall, "Pardon?"

"Hm?" I ask absently, having gotten distracted in my insomnia-induced daze. _The snow looks kinda like out-of-focus lights, don't they? _ The car rolls forward slowly, steadily, with the green light, "You said you nearly died because you were unable to project." Emma states casually, pulling into the parking lot of the Bayville mall. _Wasn't Storm with us at some point?_ "When was this?"

"Oh, I never told anyone." I murmur aloud, keeping my eyes trained on the grey-white sky that just seems to bloom before me like a big, white…cloud-thing. Anyway, the truth is, the issue never really came up. Then again, a lot has been going on; so there's really been no time to get into it. "I—ran into trouble with some old enemies." I say carefully, guarding my thoughts most cautiously. "It was a close call but the point is, none of it would have happened if I were in my astral body. Permanently."

"Whatever you're thinking," Emma says strictly, turning to me with a fierceness I've never seen before. "_Don't_ do it." I blink, surprised, and avert my eyes (anything to escape that _look!_) but she lashes out with a fierce hand and catches my jaw. I feel tempted to close my eyes as hers bore into mine but I'm immediately captured by her gaze as well as the tone of knowing in her voice as she says, "There's still much you're keeping hidden and I will respect that." I inwardly sigh with relief. "But please," Emma warns, giving my jaw a little shake, her stare turning pleading. "Be careful. If not for me, then for the Institute. The students." She inclines her head forward, asking in a much softer tone, "Alright?"

I nod and silently mouth, "Thank you."

Emma gives a reluctant snort, then straightens up and settles a furry cap on her platinum blonde hair, saying, "Let's get you some new clothes, now, shall we? Purple is _not _your color."

"After today," I groan, thinking back to my unpleasant encounter with Mystique. "I'm going to have to agree with you on that one." We meet each other's eye and slowly our faces break out into fond smiles. And for the first time in far too long, Emma and I share a laugh.

* * *

**More to come! Thanks again! Until Next time...**

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	12. Chapter 12 Strange Things

_**Thanks for reading! Enjoy;D**_

_**Dislcaimer: I own nothing but my words and OC's!**_

Chapter 12: Strange Things

"Black, black," Emma's murmuring in distaste, sorting through my clothing choices with a scowl. "So much _black!_ You should try white." She takes my forearm and compares my brown skin to the white of her coat, "It would be such a stark contrast!"

I take a tired breath, my head pounding, then venture to ask, "How long are you going to keep avoiding this?"

She breezes right by the question and steps lithely past me, yanking a flowing, blue blouse from a rack I couldn't have hoped to reach, "Perhaps you could try blue…" Something catches her eye and plucks a scarlet shawl from a shelf, saying in a falsely enthusiastic voice, "Or better yet, some _red."_

Not very subtle, Frost. "Emma, please!" I snap desperately, my voice cracking unintentionally.

Emma stops in her tracks, still clutching the red material in her hands, "It's—not my decision to make, Elizabeth." She says softly, before turning to me with an empathetic look in her eyes. "Whether Rogue wants those memories removed or not is something _she _has to decide." She turns away, in search for the right color for me, then mumbles, "When she wakes, that is."

Damn it, that's not good enough! "You _know _what she'll decide!" I reason, attempting to keep my voice down but struggling significantly. "Who wants those kinds of memories?" I shake my head angrily, the bags under my eyes seeming to deepen with each step I take to try and catch up to the swiftly striding telepath. "They don't even_belong_ to her—!"

"But her mind _does._" Emma counters, fingering a maroon colored skirt with interest. "It would be an egregious invasion of privacy and_morally_ incorrect, _as you know._ Although," She adds, holding the skirt to my waist as her eye meets mine, "I'm starting to get the impression this is more than just your sense of motherly concern talking." She straightens up, adding the skirt to the pile with a grim, but certain, "You're hiding something."

"Always and forever." I sigh, giving her a ponderous sidelong glance. _Maybe it is time I open up to her._ I find myself thinking. _She might be the most qualified to help me out here._ "I haven't exactly been making the best decisions as of late." Which wouldn't be a first. "I'm just trying to figure out what the right thing to do is." I say honestly, following her to the fitting room.

"I'll help you any way I can." Emma says while I step into one of the stalls with a large bundle of clothes hanging over both arms. "But there's only so much I can do with the information I have." She stares me down a moment, and I look back, weighing my options. I know she's trying to help and I know she's not trying to be pushy. If anything, she's been extremely patient thus far. Still…

"Tell you what," I say at last, one hand still on the door of my stall, "You let me get at least three black shirts and I'll tell you…" I hesitate slightly, bouncing on my heels, then say reluctantly, "_Everything._ Okay?"

She gives me a sidelong glance, saying uncertainly, "I'm not trying to pressure you—"

"No, I-I want to." I lie, holding up a black sweater to my chest with a false smile. "I think it's time I stopped running. Don't you?"

* * *

"Don't think too badly of me," Says Emma, dabbing the corner of her mouth with the edge of her napkin. Our bags sit in piles by our feet as we sit opposite each other at the food court, and I find myself wondering how in the hell I'm going to be able to pay her back. She insists I can work off my debt in secrets and training later. Not looking forward to that. "But I really think you're overreacting about this whole thing. It was self-defense!" She gives her hair a toss, smiling coolly at a group of young men passing by, who slow their pace to wink at her. She lowers her voice to a more husky note, "I really don't see the problem."

One guy with spiky, red hair tosses me a gross look, raising his eye brows suggestively, but I narrow my eyes at him, letting them glow in that special purple light of mine, and he gives a start before hurrying away with his friends in tow. I smirk to myself, avoiding Emma's reprehensive look.

_What?!_

"It's not the fact that I killed him that_bothers_ me." I try to explain. When Emma raises her eyebrows at me, I roll my eyes and say, "Well, _of course _it does! But that's beside the point! It's the _way _that—" I stop myself when someone walks by and lower my voice, "That he died that bothers me."

"Perhaps it was…_extreme,_" Emma consents, looking mildly uncomfortable. "But then, so were the circumstances. Now," She says sharply, inspecting a french fry clinched carefully between two manicured finger nails. "I take it this has been on your mind quite a bit recently?"

_What are you, my therapist?_

I nod, "That _attack_ I told you about was Grigori's ghost coming back to haunt me…Not _literally!_" I add quickly, upon seeing her horrified look. "They were his _men;_ former accomplices looking for revenge. They almost got it, too. But that's not what's been bothering me either." I continue on evasively, not wanting to get into detail, "I knew they'd come after me sooner or later, but there's something else…" I glance up, meeting her eye dead on and say what's been keeping me up at night, "Someone might be after me. A man by the name of the Bastard." I pause, hoping the name will ring some bells. "Ever heard of him?"

Emma shakes her head solemnly, thinking over what I've told her a moment, then asks, "Have you ever considered the obvious?"

I chew on my lip, "Yes," I say hesitantly, an uncomfortable squirm in my stomach. "It just seems so _strange_ to me. I never heard mention of a son or even a wife." My hand goes to my cheek, thinking of those wrings, none of which had been a wedding band. There were no pictures indicating any family within his home and, again, I never saw any little Grigori's running around either. I _just _doesn't add up! "Then again," I say, thinking out loud. "A _bastard_ isn't typically a child conceived in a loving marriage. Maybe bastard doesn't even mean what we think it does!" I say hopefully. "Maybe he's just the new asshole in charge. But then…" A sudden realization dawns on me, making me forget all about the fry I'd been contemplating on eating, "Why haven't they gone after Azazel?" He was involved just as much as I was, if not more due to his association with the mob.

"Too hard to catch?" Emma offers, but my mind is racing faster than I can interpret it.

"I never told anyone where I was going," I murmur. "And yet he still managed to find me." On a secluded Island run by Mutants, no less. I stand up abruptly, "I _need_ to speak to him." And by him, I mean Azazel. He must know _something_ from his time with the mob at least! The Bastard seems to be a well-known name among Russians.

We start for the parking lot but half way to the car, that ginger from before returns.

And he's brought some new friends.

_"__That's_ her!" The dipshit calls, flanked on both sides by six MRD's, who exchange glances. I can't tell what they're thinking thanks to the visors on their helmets but I have the feeling they might recognize me from that List everyone keeps talking about. Several people entering/exiting the mall give pause to stare accusingly at us as the ginger points directly at me and screams, "That's the_Mutant!_"

I look to Emma apologetically as she gives me that "now you've done it" look, and our bags fall to the ground as both of us take a stance; both of us knowing this can only end in a fight. Three of the MRD's rush us without so much as a _"__freeze!" _while another calls into a walkie talkie (for back up most likely) and the other two circle around us, looking for an opening.

Emma extends a hand, a crown of blue light appearing around her head, and sends out of wave of kinetic energy with the other but, for all her efforts, it seems to have no effect on them. She staggers back, looking confused, "W-what?!"

Taking some much needed action, I run forward, phasing right through Emma, and tackle them head on, ducking down and sweeping my leg out faster than the first guy can avoid it. He goes down hard, his helmet hitting the pavement with a _crackkk_! and I roll to the side, landing in a crouch, then twist my body to the side, and, bracing my hands on the cold ground, kick high and catch the second guy in the chest. The second MRD tries to come at me a second time but I strike him hard in the throat with a swift fist and he goes falling back, choking and wheezing, on the ground.

The third guy, having slipped past me, charges for Emma, only to have his fist shatter against diamond-hard skin. She snatches his wrist in her hand, glaring menacingly, then hoists his arm over her shoulder and tosses him into an oncoming MRD van with near-super human strength.

Emma and I find our way back to each other as six more Mardy's pile out of the van and advance carrying nightsticks and tasers. Missing my own taser and nightsticks, I thrust out one arm and send a harpoon in the bullet-proof jacket of one of the Mardy's and reel him, forcing him to have to run just to keep up. He raises his nightstick to strike me as he hurls toward me, but I raise a shield of purple energy, which he slams into it with an "_Oofph!"_

To keep from falling over myself, I simultaneously turn and fall to one knee as he meets my shield and send him sprawling into the snow while I retract the severed line and look up to face my next attackers.

But they never reach me.

Moving faster than I've ever seen her, Emma steps in my path and does one hell of a windmill kick, knocking two MRD's off their feet, then she turns—slowly, deliberately—and round house kicks a third guy into a parked car, setting off its alarm.

"Thanks." I breathe, grinning at her in her stunning, diamond form, glittering blindingly before me, but before she can give some witty retort, a collar clasps around her neck from behind and she staggers forward, clutching at her throat as she is forced back into her normal form.

Enraged, I move to stand in front of her and fire a Harpoon at the cannon (from whence the collar was shot) and electrify it, rendering the cannon inert and sending the Mardy's scattering as it combusts, making several people in the area scream and run for cover.

"I think it's time we took our leave," I breathe, realizing we're only making the situation worse, as the remaining MRD's have begun to call for even more back up and we seem to have gathered a crowd. And—_Is-is that a camera?! Definitely not good._

I hoist the weakened telepath to her feet, breathing heavily myself, and shout, "Get to the car! I'll cover you!"

She takes off (not entirely happy about it, but knowing we have no other choice) and I swiftly start forward as three Mardy's attack at once, two coming from the side and another coming dead on, a tranquilizer gun raised.

Surprising everyone (with the exception of myself) I leap into the air, concentrating hard on levitation so that I sail right over my assailants and tuck into a roll, landing near our forgotten shopping backs, then draw a shield of energy around me in a large ring, preventing the four remaining Mardy's from approaching as I begin to move my hands in a circular pattern, causing the ring to spin dangerously around me.

I spot someone (a _civilian,_ it looks like) trying to follow Emma to the car and I know my Harpoon won't reach her in time.

Luckily, we have an Angel looking out for us today.

He swoops down so fast the civie hardly has time to react before he's taken up high into the sky and dropped off on the roof of the Mall, dangerously close to the edge. The civilian gives a terrified scream, backing away from the golden-haired Mutant quickly as he straightens. Wings flaring out in the pale, grey sky, Warren takes a dive off the roof and flies my way, fast as a bullet.

I send out my spinning ring of doom, successfully clearing a path for Warren whilst shattering the windows and blowing out the tires of the van with the sheer force of the blast. _Multitasking! _Staggering from the strain of the blow, I stoop down tiredly, holding onto our shopping bags with one hand, and extend the other. Warren's hands latch onto mine and soon I'm soaring high, high, high into the air. I give a startled cry, taken aback by Warrens' speed, but quickly find a rhythm once he evens out above the clouds. "What about Emma?!" I call over the din, peering up nervously at Warren's handsome face.

He looks down at me through sky blue eyes, smirking, and says sarcastically, "Nice to see you, too! _I've _been fine!"

"_Warren!_"

"Oh, alright!" He changes his grip on me, grunting out, "Hold onto my harness!" I crane my neck and notice the black, leather straps crossing his chest and securing his waist and latch onto it with both hands with a grateful, "Nice!"

_I'll have to show the Sparrow! __**If**__I ever see her again…_

We fly in low and find Emma speeding down the road, her white car screaming down an intersection. "Any idea where is she's going?!" Warren calls over the sound of rushing wind.

"The Institute, it looks like!" I call back, turning my face to escape from the biting cold that whips at my face. "Care to accompany us?"

"Love to."

I've always loved flying, but at the moment, I can't seem to enjoy myself. I can hardly keep my head up and I feel seconds away from passing out. That fight took more out of me than I realized, and the second Warren sets me down on the ground, I hit the ground like a rock. But luckily, the snow breaks my fall. Yet, somehow, I don't black out. Whether it be from the cold or from embarrassment, I don't know, but a second later I'm being hoisted up on my knees by Warren with the sounds of Emma shouting in the distance.

I place a hand to my head, vision blurring, and murmur, "Wh-what happened?" Warren's face is concerned but Emma seems to know just what's happened.

"You're too weak." She says, her hand grasping feebly at the collar still clamped around her throat. "You _need_ sleep."

I shrug them both off, staggering to my feet irritably, and say, "And _you_ need to get that collar off." I turn to Warren with a forced smile, saying, "Thanks for the lift. Care to come inside?"

"If that's alright." Warren says with a charming smile towards Emma, folding his wings carefully against his back. Emma smiles back, running a hand through her hair and says, "Well, of course, Mr. Worthington. You're always welcome."

Attempting to keep my cool (and not pass out while I'm at it) I pick up the fallen bags of clothes and start up the steps of the institute only to have to pause at the entrance to get my bearings. Emma reaches out to me but I suck it up and hurry on into the Institute, brushing past Logan with a hasty, "Hey, Logan!" Before making my way, tremulously, to the couch, where I sit down heavily and attempt to regain my bearings.

"Trouble with the MRD?" I hear Logan asking as they enter the living room and I adopt a bored look as Emma scrutinizes me, saying aloofly, "Isn't there always?"

"Let me." Logan offers, reaching for the collar around Emma's neck. She gives him a haughty look then rolls her eyes and gives her hair a toss, saying huskily, "If you must."

I watch curiously, noticing, immediately, a connection as Emma bears her neck with a smug smirk and lets the other Mutant cautiously tear apart the collar with his bare hands. I glance away, smiling slightly as Emma takes a refreshed breath and breathes, "Much better!" She looks around inquisitively while Logan tosses the remains of the collar in a trash bin, asking, "Is Dr. McCoy in?"

Logan groans, taking a seat opposite us alongside Warren as the blonde millionaire takes off his gloves and warms his hands, "In the lab with _Ironman._" He shakes his head in annoyance, "They're inseparable. Workin' on some kind of "counter key" for our little collar problem. Stark seems to think he knows how to get them off."

"He does." I testify, thinking back to the way he managed to figure out how to unlock my own collar last night. "You should see him." I tell Emma wearily, kind of hoping they'll all leave so I can limp to my room in peace.

Emma gets this oddly resolute look in her eye, then lightly touches a hand to her temple, saying, "And _you_ need to rest."

"I don't need—H-_Hey!_" I give a shout, flailing about angrily as Logan suddenly steps forward and picks me up off the couch. I fall against his chest, my face mere inches from his own, and quickly jerk back, face flushing furiously. At first, he looks just as confused as I do, then, putting it together, grunts angrily, "Knock it off, Frost!" At the same time that I shout, "_Stop it,_ Emma! Put me down!"

"You need rest." Emma insists, her hand still at her temple. She rises from the couch and I give a start when Logan starts moving towards the stairs. "Logan," Emma croons sweetly, "You'll forgive me if I borrow you for a moment."

"Y-Yeah, okay..." He mumbles back, his stare becoming slightly unfocused. She's completely taken him over!

"Not cool, Emma." I say warningly, too tired to phase away and not wanting to injure Logan either by struggling. "I thought you said invading a mind was an egregious something or other?"

"Oh, he's used to it." She says dismissively, earning her a sharp glare from me._What's that supposed to mean? _

"Anybody mind if I, ah, step outside for a bit?" Warren calls from the living room, and I turn to look over Logan's shoulder to see Warren looking at something outside through the large window.

"If you wish," Replies Emma, before adding mysteriously, "She's waiting for you."

_She—?_

_Oh, that's right! Warren and Storm have a thing. I forgot about that. _

We reach the top of the stairs and, at Emma's coaxing, Logan starts heading towards my room, "We're not together, you know." Emma states behind us and I cast Logan a nervous look, but his gaze is dead set on the hall way ahead. "He can't hear us." Emma says, sensing my hesitance.

"You really shouldn't do that." I say quietly. "It's not right. It's-it's invasive—"

"We should really talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." I quip as we step into my room. My old, old, old room where a Mutant named Jubilee once threatened me. Good times. Everything looks about the same, with the more updated furniture but otherwise it's quite nostalgic for me. Though a little dark for my taste. I'll open a window later. "It's over between us, and I've…moved on."

Emma sighs and drops me (none too lightly) on my bed, saying tiredly, "_No,_ you haven't."

"Damn it, Emma!" I groan, thankful to be set down at last, but still haunted by Logan's stillness. She keeps mistaking my scrambled feelings for—well—feelings for Logan. "I've got _other things _on my mind lately." Emma crosses her arms disapprovingly but doesn't interrupt. "The last thing I want to discuss is my non-existent love life!"

_" '__That's one thing I'm not ready to discuss with you.' " _I say telepathically, not ready to give up_all _of my secrets just yet but also knowing there's no sense in pretending I don't have one._ " '__Let it go.' "_

Her lips tighten, peeved that I'm keeping something else from her, and she looks like she might try to argue with me, but eventually, she concedes and releases her hold on Logan, saying as he begins to recover, "Let me know if you need anything." She turns toward the door, then says, "And get some sleep, will you?" She gives me a once over, completely ignoring Logan's angered glare, then says in that oh, so kind way of hers, "You look awful."

And with _that _lovely compliment, Emma takes her leave, leaving Logan and I painfully alone in a semi-lit room. _C-can I go back to Genosha now? I know it's only been two days but still…_

"Hate it when she does that." Logan groans, rubbing the back of his neck with an angry shudder. "Damned woman…" He frowns, then looks at me, probably sensing the sudden increase in my heart rate, and asks, "What's wrong?"

"I—" I blink, startled, then hurriedly say, "Nothing. I just…" I give a false laugh, leaning down to take off my boots with fumbling fingers. "Guess I just need some—" I give a start when he's suddenly at my bed side, his strong hands wrapping around my ankle, and, to my surprise, he starts taking off my other shoe. "Sleep…" He carefully slides it off, then looks up, setting my boots down, and looks up at me long and hard while I fight to figure out what to do, what to _say._

But it's just too damned hard! I don't even know where to start!

"Logan," I breathe hesitantly as he half-rises, drawing closer. I forgot how absolutely _massive _the guy is. Sure he's shorter than average, but his shoulders are remarkably broad, "I—" I stop, a confession catch in my throat and edge back on the bed, only to succeed in giving him more room to keep coming. His hand moves up to my waist and the bed dips with his weight. It feels painfully quiet but my mind is racing far too loudly with all the things I could do and say to diffuse the situation or make it that much worse. I say the one thing that pops into my mind, "Emma…"

He blinks, and stops, then mutters, "Yeah…Emma…" So they _are_ a thing. I avert my eyes, not quite sure how to feel about that. Noticing the movement, he edges closer, his Adams' apple bobs in his throat, then he starts to try to explain himself, "Listen, I—"

I put a stop to _that_ immediately, "N-no, don't." I say, putting up a restraining hand. He's still too close, a trend I notice to spell trouble for me when it comes to men. "I understand. Things change. _People_ change." I struggle with my next words, trying to choose them carefully, "_I've_ changed." I can feel my heart pounding in my chest; faster and faster; harder and harder. _God, he can probably hear it, it feels so loud! _ "I've done things." _Don't say it, don't say it. He doesn't need to know! _"Terrible things and I just—" _Oh, what am I trying to say?! _"I couldn't forgive myself—"

"_I_ know terrible." Logan interrupts, tugging on my legs until they're on either side of his waist. My breath catches in my throat, chest still hammering, but I can't help but love the feeling of his body between my legs; so warm and firm and not in the least hesitant. Unlike_some_ people."And I don't see anything terrible about this picture."

A smirk tugs at my lips. That was _exactly _what I wanted to hear. I lean forward on impulse and my lips find his. His knees come up beneath me and he lifts me up in his arms, bracing me back against wall. "Logan…"

The sound of a man screaming jolts us apart so violently my head not only _hits_ the wall but goes _through it_ in my panic. It's the Professor!

Faster than lightning, Logan takes hold of my forearm and pulls me up and out of the bed (and the wall), nearly lifting me off the ground in his haste. He starts for the door at a run, claws already extended, and I follow, snatching up my broad swords as I do so. I follow Logan to the Professor's bedroom, my heart pounding for a whole new reason now.

We burst through the doors, both our blades drawn, but, upon looking around the room, we find that no one's here. Aside from the Professor, who appears to be having some sort of fit. He jerks in his bed like a fish out of water and his eyes are rolling into the back of his head. A frightful sight. Fearing it's a seizure, I put away my blades and rush past a stunned Logan to try and restrain the thrashing paraplegic. I quickly realize I can't hold the Professor down with my bare hands and call to Logan, ordering him to hold the Professor down while I try to cushion him with the pillows of his bed, in which he has been bedridden (for days if I'm not mistaken). When Logan doesn't move, I shout, "Logan! Help me!"

He gives a start, then hurries forward, looking determined, and pins the Professor's flailing limbs while I tuck pillows by his head and shoulders. "Stand back." I say, lighting my hands. Logan cautiously steps back, his gaze still stunned, and watches while I place a protective layer of binding energy around the Professor, preventing him from hurting himself or falling off the bed.

" 'Emma,' " I call out mentally while Logan attempts to call out to the Professor. " 'Emma, we need your help. The Professor is having some kind of fit!' "

Alarm transmits from her mind to mine and I almost lose concentration on holding down the Professor, luckily I regain my bearings just as Emma calls back, " 'We're on the way! Be careful!' "

"Chuck!" Logan is calling to the unresponsive man. "Charles, can you hear me!"

But the Professor continues to gasp and tremble, jerking violently under my shield. His eyes are staring off in all directions, moving rapidly, like he's looking at a large group of people. But it's the look of frozen horror in his eyes that has me so deeply unnerved.

"Logan, he can't hear you." I say softly, maintaining my concentration with increasing difficulty. I'm still utterly exhausted from earlier today and the night before but just seeing the Professor this way…

"'Ve never seen him like this." Logan mumbles, standing beside me with his arms crossed and his gaze hard.

"I've never seen anyone have a fit like this." I say back numbly. "It's almost like he's…under attack."

The words only just leave my lips when the Professor calls out weakly, but I can't understand what he's saying. And then, "My—m-m-my…" We both lean in to listen as weak words make their way out of the Professor's trembling lips. "F-fault…My—fault…"

"My fault…" I murmur, leaning in closer. By instinct, I reach out a hand to touch his forehead, certain it's a telepathic attack he's under, but not entirely sure of what I can do to stop it. My fingers just graze his forehead when Emma bursts into the room and shouts, "Stop!"

But her warning comes just a few seconds too late.

It feels like I've been probed by a searing hot power, entering from my right temple and zigzagging through my brain like a pinball. A flash of red blinds me; a fire burning within the recesses of my mind. The fire begins to take shape. Wings flare out. I scream.

It's all over in a few seconds.

"What—" I pant, waving the two off while Dr. McCoy (who must have entered the room along with Emma) orders Stark to help strap the Professor to his bed with felt restraints that I hadn't seen until now. My head spins dangerously and I fight off a nausea roiling in my gut. "Was that?!"

"We've been trying to figure that one out ourselves." Doctor McCoy breathes tiredly, already taking the Professor's vitals. Charles seems to have calmed down. His eyes are closed, but his brow remains furrowed and he twitches in his sleep. "What are you two even doing in here? We told you he was highly unstable and needs his rest!"

"Thought you said he wasn't in his right mind?!" Logan thunders, looking as though he's been struck by a telepathic barb of fiery rage. "You made it sound like he had a head ache!"

"He was having some sort of fit, Hank." I explain. "We thought we could help. We weren't expecting anything like—" I recall that brief attack once more as a hot shudder runs down the length of my spine, and even worse, into what _would _be the scar on my abdomen if I were reunited with my physical form. I touch a hand to my abdomen, then realize I still haven't finished my sentence and say, "Like that."

Emma gives me a hard look, contemplating, then reaches out to me with extended fingers, "Come here." I jerk my head back immediately, giving her a furious glare. _No mind reading!_

"It's for your own good!" Emma persists with the roll of her eyes. "We haven't the slightest idea what we're dealing with here and if the mind of someone like the _Professor_ can be so easily taken over, who knows—?"

"I think we'd know if I were being taken over." I hoist myself to my feet, but that feeling in my stomach won't leave. It's like I've just burned myself with a curler and the heat continues to ebb deeper and deeper into my skin. And it's not just in my abdomen but my side as well. And I can feel it working its way up into my cheek as well. Targeting old scars?

_It's just after shock._ I tell myself, kneading my shoulder where I was once shot by pre-MRD's. _That blow was so quick and decisive…it must have targeted my weak spots. But it lost interest in me pretty quickly and moved on. Pfft, listen to me, going on like this is an actual entity or sentient being or something! Unless it is…In which case…_

"What is it?" I ask, then, realizing they probably don't really know, I hurriedly say, "Something about it feels alive. Surely it must be an attack from another telepath."

Emma frowns, shakes her head, "I would be able to seek them out." She glances away, probably incensed by the mere notion of being bested by another telepath. "I fear this may be an internal struggle within the Professor's mind. The mental stress of his abilities eventually wears down its holder."

The door flies open a second time, making all of us jump, and in rushes Warren lead by Storm, her dark eyes wide with worry, "Headmistress!"

Emma's face darkens and she turns grimly to Storm, already knowing what's up, "One of the students?"

Storm nods, her white hair falling around her neck in thick waves, saying through labored breaths, "It's Jean!"

"Has she collapsed again?"

_Again?! _Logan and I exchange a glance. _What the hell is going on around here?!_

"I don't know!" Storm cries out, "I got a call from the school but there was so much commotion… Something very bad is happening!" Storm's face contorts with sudden terror and we brace ourselves for the worst. And sure enough, the worst comes, "And the MRD is on its way."

* * *

**More to come soon enough! Thanks for reading again. Let me know your thoughts! Until next time...**

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	13. Chapter 13 The New Threat

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words. Thanks! and Enjoy;D**

_Logan and I exchange a glance. What the hell is going on around here?!_

"_I don't know!" Storm cries out, "I got a call from the school but there was so much commotion… Something very bad is happening!" Storm's face contorts with sudden terror and we brace ourselves for the worst. And sure enough, the worst comes, "And the MRD is on its way."_

Chapter 13: The New Threat

Faster than lightning, Emma reverts to her diamond form and emits a high frequency whistle that makes Logan and Hank cringe with the pain of its high frequency. Before I even have time to wonder what the hell it means, Emma's already heading down the stairs, barking out, "Hank, watch over the Professor. He may have another lapse. Storm, you will remain as well. Logan," She rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We may need you."

"I can help." Warren offers, earning him a concerned look from Storm.

Emma nods, the wheels in her head turning at full throttle, "Elizabeth," She turns to me with a deadly serious look. "You have your orders."

"I'm coming with you." I state blandly, not in the mood to argue _or_ take orders. "I'm way too hyped up for sleep and you _know _you'll need me. Now," I say once we reach the bottom of the stairs. "Whose car are we taking?"

Relenting quicker than I'd expected her to, Emma pauses on the bottom step, looking around irritably for…something, then says, "We're not taking a car." The _direct _answer to my question comes in a plume of smoke and a _bamf!_

"I really hate that sound." Azazel quips, his arms crossed and his gaze disapproving, looking like a genie that just materialized out of a lamp. Strange. I didn't know you could summon him with a whistle! Didn't Ironman do that before on the ship? Huh…

"There's no time to argue," Emma snaps, taking his forearm in her now-fleshy hand. Logan meets my eye briefly, but I hurriedly look away, my face heating up, and move to stand by Emma, purposefully avoiding Azazel's eye. What the hell had I been thinking back there?! It's bad enough…you know what? Fuck it. Moving right along, "We need to go to the school." Emma continues swiftly. "Jean is in trouble."

Whether Azazel knows who that is or not, he nods his head in understanding and somehow manages to catch my eye, giving me a careful once over before murmuring lightly, "Perhaps you should not—"

"You heard the woman," I interrupt irritably, taking Emma's hand forcefully. Love it when he gets all concerned like that but now just isn't the time for that. I _need_ this. I need a distraction. It keeps me from passing out or thinking too much. Not that I ever do that, pfft. "No time. Let's go!"

"I'm coming with!" Tony exclaims, hurrying after us in a baggy turtle neck, looking better rested than Azazel or I. "I want in on the action!"

Emma opens her mouth to object, but I intercede quickly, saying, "Of course. The more the merrier, now let's _go."_

" 'He needs to see what Bayville is really like, Emma.' " I reason with the telepath, reminding her subliminally or our most recent run-in with the MRD. " 'He might be able to help us!' "

"Fine, fine!" Emma snaps briskly, then says to Stark, who moves to stand beside me, "Brace yourself." And with one final look to Azazel, we're off. Thankfully, Stark doesn't pass out or throw up upon arrival, but he sinks to his knees in the snow and waves us off, breathing heavily while he attempts to get his bearings.

The sun is nearly down and the frigid air cuts right through my sweater, but a large crowd of arguing teachers, students, and security guards trying to keep them all at bay is what really has me shivering. This is _not_ good. I never knew Jean personally—Having met her after I first woke up from my 17 year nap and spent some time with her at the mall—but she always struck me as wise for her age with a general goodness in her heart, and I find myself desperately hoping we can reach her in time. I just hope she's not having the same kind of "fit" the Professor was!

A few students nearby begin to panic when they see us, due to the ring of fire still smoldering in the snow around us, and Emma gives a quick snap of her fingers, saying to Azazel in annoyance, "_Inside!"_

We teleport inside and find a deserted hallway laid out before us. The lights that haven't been blown out flicker spastically and the lighting of the hall is dim at best. Debris consisting of papers, schedules, flyers, pencils and other utilities litter the floor, making it look like a hurricane just blew through but aside from that, there's nothing else here. Something about the silence puts us all on alert and, after a moment, I grow anxious and in great need to break the silence, "Can you find her?" I ask Emma, but when I turn to look at her, I find her leaning heavily against the wall with her palms burrowed in her forehead, "I—I can't…" She murmurs, "I can't see…"

"Get it together, Frost." Logan rumbles, backing up against the doors to prevent nosy Humans from getting in. "We're on a time crunch here! Can you find her or not?"

"No…" Emma sighs heavily, slumping against my shoulder. "I-I can't reach her. She's blocking me out." She tries to look up at us, "We need to—_Ahhh uhh!_" She doubles over, her fingers digging into her scalp and I dive under her to keep her from falling, before turning to Azazel, saying urgently, "Get her out of here. She can't help us like this."

"No," Emma protests weakly, trying to push me away. "I'm not—_Ohh!_" She crumples against me and I give a humorless chuckle, saying, "Now, look who needs rest!"

"We're wastin' time!" Logan pants, having blocked the entrance by bending the metal door handles over one another. And he's right. The MRD should be arriving right about now and, judging by the police sirens, I wouldn't be surprised if they were already here.

I nod to Azazel, similarly to the way Emma did a few moments ago, and he teleports away without another word, carting a weakly protesting Emma with him, then I turn to Logan and Warren and say, "Then we'd better get moving."

We start off through the school and I immediately realize we need to split up if we're going to find Jean before the MRD gets to her. "Fan out." I say, realizing we're all headed in the same direction. "If you find Jean, get her out of here. The rest of us will catch up."

"Yes, sir." Logan rumbles with a smirk. I've gotten pretty used to doling out orders and leading ops not unlike this one. But Logan has never seen this side of me before. I smirk back but a squirm in my stomach turns it into more of a grimace and I find I have to turn away before he can see the look of embarrassment on my face.

But before I can read too much into my own actions over the last, hmm, well, _year, _Warren sweeps past us excitedly, oblivious as ever. "I'll cover the fields." Warren calls, making his way to the nearest exit. We nod our agreements, then go our separate ways. I phase through a couple of doors on the first floor, poking my head into dimly lit, or completely dark classrooms then scale to the second floor where I find a whopping load of…nothing. There aren't even any lingering students!

I give pause in the library, sitting heavily in one of the plush reading chairs with a hand at my head while I try to figure out what our next move should be in the event that we can't find Jean. Or that we do and no one can get near her. As I'm trying to figure this out, however, my mind begins to take me elsewhere. What was I _thinking_, getting all cozy with Logan like that?! After everything?! I still care about Azazel and I want to put everything else behind me already. So why do I keep roping myself back in? Am I really so desp—?

A shifting shadow makes me jump and I leap out of my seat, one of my remaining harpoons already pointed at the psycho's head. Her voice is hollow, yet echoes through the library with a weight of its own, materializing before even she does, "You're still here?"

Head Mistress Darkholme's shadow morphs into Mystique as she steps forward into the light and I narrow my eyes, already tired of having to look at her, "Where is she, Mystique?" I ask, taking a threatening step forward. God, I wish I had my broad swords! But I didn't have time to strap, having spent all that money (Emma's money) to buy a holster for them. "Where is Jean?"

"You mean Charles' ticking time bomb of 'good intentions?'" Mystique sniffs in distaste, moving far too close for my comfort, and moves my arm aside with a light hand. She crosses her arms and I take a stiff stance, just itching for a reason to knock her on her ass. But I believe her when she says, "How should _I_ know?"

Still, I can't resists saying stubbornly, "It's _your _school."

She takes another step towards me then jabs a finger in my chest, "Which is why I want_ you_ to get her out of here." She turns away from me with the irritated wave of her hand, "The last thing I need is a witch hunt at my school."

"How noble of you." I say flatly, oddly glad—once again—for the distraction. I was actually starting to think about my actions again. _Close one! _ "I'll take care of it, _if_ you stay out of this and cover our backs with the press."

"Oh, you're already all over the news, _Ghostgirl_." Is Mystiques' forever-mocking reply. "Guess you won't be making anymore trips to the mall with your girlfriends, will you?"

Choosing to ignore that little quip and what it implies, I begin to pace, asking, "Alright, if _you_ were a rampaging, teenage telepath, where would you be?"

"You know the girl so well," Mystique says flatly, already walking away with a dismissive wave. "_You _figure it out."

I give a disgruntled sigh, then, knowing I won't get anything else out of Mystique aside from a headache, I focus on phasing and levitation, and lightly drop through the ceiling and onto—a stage? I turn in a wide circle while music, still playing from the sound booth, fills my ears with a renaissance-y melody. A play rehearsal? My footsteps thump hollowly against the wood of the stage while I survey the area. I haven't been on a stage since college!

I don't even remember what our last play was about. I only remember that we never got to perform it on account of the Mutant raid that sent me spiraling down this path in the first place. Now, I find myself thinking back to my college days with a growing sense of nostalgia. Completely forgetting my mission, I brush my fingers lightly over the grand piano down stage left, tinkling with the keys, before moving over to one of the sets, trying to figure out what classic it belongs to. A giant cauldron sits in the corner and a throne appears to be in the making on the right wing.

Definitely a period piece.

A rack of costumes greets me at the far back and I take the hem of one of the dresses in my hands, the satiny fabric reminding me of the softness of Glenn's , I'm so tired. _What was the name of that play?_

"McBeth." A voice calls from nowhere, startling me so badly I swear my lungs feel as though all of the air in my body has been torn right out of me at once. "They say it is a cursed play." I look around, the music growing louder from the sound booth, but when I look towards it, all I see is a shadow, darting across the window.

_It's almost as if he read my mind, _I find myself thinking vaguely, wondering if this guy is even real or just a figment of my sleep deprived imagination. _Perhaps he's a telepath. Even better, perhaps he's __**the**__ telepath. The one who's been attacking the Professor and making it look like it was Xavier losing his mind. I knew it was an attack!_

"Who's there?" I call out firmly, putting a mental guard around my mind. A booming laugh makes me jump again and I cringe, throwing an arm up as a spot light suddenly turns on with a _choom! _And shines directly in my eyes. The voice comes from above me now, up in the rafters, "Such a trivial question to ask me. "Who's there?"" I can hear him moving around while he chuckles, deep in his throat, "You're not even _trying _to be dramatic, are you?"

"Come out, you coward!" I call, levitating high enough so I land on the rafters, where he surely must have been. "Or I'll give you more _drama_ than you can handle!" I shut off the spot light with a _shck! _But when the light fades out, he's still nowhere to be seen. I start down the rafters but stop when suddenly all the lights of the auditorium go out, leaving only blood-orange ones illuminating the walk ways and isles surrounding the stage and the house.

"_That _is what I'm talking about!" The man shouts enthusiastically, his voice echoing so vastly throughout the room that I can't even tell where it's coming from at this point. "Tension, emotion,_ passion_—!"

"Enough!" I shout, growing more and more nervous by the second. Who is this guy? And why do I get the feeling he already knows who I am? "What do you want with Jean?"

"_Jean?_" A laugh so gleeful it's almost amusing echoes through the auditorium loudly, making me feel, all of a sudden, very in over my head. "Oh, ho ho ho ho, no! You mistake me for another! I'm not here for the girl." The music abruptly stops, "I'm here for you."

That's it, he's got to be in the sound booth! That's where everything is controlled.

I start down the stair case leading into the booth with growing apprehension, letting my hands and eyes light the way. I leap down into the booth, hands alight and a fire burning in my belly, but he's not here. A swivel chair turns in a slow circle where he must have sat. Sweat has begun to prickle on my neck and a feeling of growing fear has begun working its way through my system.

"If that's true, then you _owe _me an explanation." I say steadily, my voice masking the growing apprehension in my bones. He's fast and he's using it to his advantage. But who is he? Not a telepath, I don't think. Otherwise he'd already be in my head. And he's not here for Jean, I do believe that. That leaves only one other option. "And I've got better things to do than play twenty questions." I realize that my voice is echoing and find a microphone has been left on.

I lean into it, gazing out at the darkened auditorium for him, and say, "I want a name. A motive. Or I walk. Your choice."

A few seconds of silence pass, then a dark figure steps forward onto the stage, probably having been hiding behind left wing, and stands directly in the center. I can't make out anything about him but the tense way he stands; even so, the intensity of his voice is enough to make me rethink my request, "If you want to know so badly," He calls stoically, challengingly. "Come find out."

I step onto the control panel and phase through the booth window, landing lightly on the lit pathway towards the front of the stage. The orange lights make the room look picture perfect for a séance or some sort of cultist ritual. I withdraw my dagger, hidden in a holster at my waist (which I'd bought while I was at the mall) and let it glow with energy, acting as a sort of lantern to light the path.

As I draw closer, he stoops down on one knee, leering down at me in the dark. I can't see his face but I know he's smiling. His energy crackles like electricity, excitement practically setting him aglow, much like the haunting, orange lights surrounding us. It's…creepy.

"Have you figured it out, yet?" He asks when I hesitate a foot or so away from the skirt of the stage. I think I have, but I just don't know for sure…

Taking a few steps back, I make a running start and vault onto the stage, moving quickly to get behind him so I have the advantage. He rises keeping his back to me, and I suddenly feel my blood surge with anxiety. I suddenly have the burning desire to know who this man is and I _need _to know now!

Lifting my hands to my center, palms facing in, I manage to generate enough energy to create a small orb of light. I lift my hands above my head and the orb follows the silent command, planting itself between us to I can see him.

His hair is thin and long, tied back in a sloppy pony tail that allows locks to fall loosely around his shoulders. His skin appears pale in the violet light and a scar thicker than my index finger runs down the length of his bare back from shoulder to hip. Why he's partially naked, I have no idea, but the solid, black tattoos that run down his arms make me feel sick to my stomach. Tattoos are customary for members of the Russian Mafia.

The words leave my mouth without my permission, floating through the air on a cloud of apprehension and dread, "You're his son…" I murmur numbly, my hands falling to my sides. "Aren't you?"

He takes a breath, shoulders expanding, and his leather bound hands clench at his own sides. He rotates on the spot, and I see his face for the first time.

His hair is black, his eyes green. His face bears little resemblance to his fathers'; his jaw is prominent but not quite as jagged or harsh and he has a certain boyish quality that his father only possessed as a child. He's clean shaven as well, something Russian's aren't particularly known for, much less the man this boy once called father. Though I guess I couldn't technically call him a boy. He's got to be in his late twenties, by the looks of him. He's wickedly tall and angular, his build far slighter than his father's, serving to set the two apart further. But his eyes…I would recognize those eyes anywhere. This man's eyes, while lighter in color, are hooded and shrouded in darkness; emotionless; bottomless. Shark eyes.

Just like Grigori's.

"Please," He murmurs, stepping closer, and this time, I can hear the Russian accent coloring his words where he must have been disguising it before. A scar on his jaw where he must have been gored or burned reveals a metal plate, probably replacing the bone. And his chest…not only is it marred with scars, but his shoulders bear distinct tattoos on them as well. Stars. The stars of the Russian mob. "Call me by my title: The Bastard." He says smoothly, moving even closer. I take a decisive step back. "It suits me."

I can't speak. I want to run but I just can't. I need to know more. But I can't seem to speak. Emma was right. He _is_ Grigori's son! His bastard! But why now? Why haven't I ever seen him before this point? And why isn't he trying to kill me right now? I don't even think he's armed!

"Well?" He asks, taking another couple of daring steps towards me. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself—?" He stops abruptly when my lit blade suddenly comes up between us.

I find my voice at last, "You tried to have me killed." Fear is overshadowed by anger, remembering how his men trashed the home I was forced to leave behind out of fear that he would strike again; thus destroying my relationship with Magneto and costing me my body and my sense of security.

"And I failed." The Bastard observes, "As I knew I would. I wanted to test your skills. And I have to admit," He grins, a full-toothed smile that _would _have been charming if he wasn't—well—who he is. "I was _very_ impressed."

"You sacrificed your own men just to test me?" I whisper, enraged. Krillen had done the exact same thing in an attempt to kill me but this is on a much larger scale. "Do you know how many of them died because of you—?!"

"Ah, ah!" He wags a gloved, finger at me, "Because of _you._ And my father, I suppose. But then," He adds quickly, before I can interrupt in a rage at what that "suppose" implies, "You didn't kill my men. That bestial _whore_ you had shacked up in that house with you did, didn't he?" My jaw drops with outrage but he continues on before I can call him out, asking curiously, "Why is that? Too guilt ridden to kill them, or were they simply not worth your time? Please say the latter." A smirk lifts his lips, upon which yet another scar rests. "I love a girl with a god complex."

"What's it to _you_ who killed them, _boy?_" I challenge, marveling at his exemplary English skills and at his intellect. He knows about Creed. How? What _else_ does he know?! Could it be he got a hold of that man I left alive? Or did he have an outsider spying on us? "You don't seem to give a damn about their lives; so why the interest in me?"

He perks a thick eyebrow, "You want the truth?"

I narrow my eyes, as if to say '_no fucking shit, Sherlock.'_ He gives a woeful sigh, then turns his back to me, long hair swaying behind him, and begins walking towards the skirt of the stage, saying, "I've never had a true enemy before. Oh, there have been problems with other families; families who wish to destroy me; destroy my dynasty and replace it with their own." As he speaks, his accent finally begins to come through in full, growing thicker the more he monologues while I try to figure out if he's a Mutant or not. And if I can take him or not. For all I know, his allies are laying in wait in this very room, watching us right now.

"But they rarely present a challenge." He continues to say, placing his hands on his hips, completely at ease around me. "And I've never had much cause to hate them. But_ you,_" He turns back to me with a mad glint in those hooded eyes of his and begins walking swiftly towards me again, "_You_ have given me that reason." My body tightens like a coil and I draw the dagger up again in warning. He presses forward, knowing I won't kill him, until his chest is pressing against my blade as he speaks, "And you are a formidable enemy, or so I am told, Elizabeth Hawthorne. The Ghostgirl. Nightshade: Killer of Men."

"Oh, yes," He says at my bewildered look. My hand trembles, still holding the blade against his flesh, but I can't move, not even when he takes hold of my wrist and takes the dagger right out of my hand. "You have grown quite famous in the underworld."

I can scarcely breathe at this point. _How did he do that?!_ I find myself wondering as I watch him turn his back to me once more, observing the dagger in his hand. _Why didn't I stop him?! _

"I have heard many tales," He murmurs, lifting the dagger into the light of my ultraviolet orb. "Many _rumors_…" He stops, glancing over his shoulder at me, his voice taking an oddly soft, empathetic tone, "Is it true what they say? That my father tried to force himself on you? Tried to murder you and your lover in his home? And that you merely killed him in self-defense?"

To over-simplify it, "…Yes." I study him carefully as he turns to face me, an earnestness taking over his deadly features.

"I believe you," He murmurs, gently handing me back the dagger. "But that will not stop me from hunting you, I'm afraid." _**What?!**_ "You've caused me more trouble than I'd care to admit, Nightshade." He continues, unabashed.

"My father…was…_flawed,_ I will grant you that. But you could hardly blame him." He stalks along the skirt of the stage, carefully placing each step as the anger in his words steadily grows, "My grandmother was an evil woman. And the moment you killed Grigori Vahkrov, _Elianne _Kuriv Vahkrov assumed the role of Head Mistress over the family business. She revoked my title, as I knew she would, condemning me as nothing but a worthless bastard and taking my right to the business; _my _birthright!" His gaze hardens, his body language turning rough and tense, like a predator going on edge just before a kill.

"Call me what you will," He spits, fists tightening, muscles clinching and twisting with fury. "Call _him_ what you will, but I_ loved _my father. He took care of me after my mother abandoned me. Gave me money, promised me a future. And _you_ took that away from me…He was going to name me leader, you know. He was going to give me_ everything. _"

"I didn't know." I say firmly, not quite ready to entirely take the blame here. "You have to understand, I _didn't_ know—" I'm about to go on to say that I was just trying to protect myself, but I never get the chance.

"But _she _did." He snaps, his eyes gaining a feverish look. "My grandmother. She knew he would name me Boss in his stead. He was going to finalize it on my next birthday a month later. And then _you _killed him and Mistress Vahkrov stepped right in! It didn't stop me, of course. But it sure as hell made taking control a lot harder. I lost a lot of friends," His eyes twinkle in the dim light as he says ominously, "And quite a bit of family, too."

No…He-he didn't! His own grandmother…"Miss Vahkrov?"

"Dead." He states casually with just a hint of pride. "It wasn't quick. But then again, quick doesn't always mean painless, right?" I look away, abhorred. Miss Vahkrov helped me so many times that night. And she had no reason to. And now…

The Bastard scoffs lightly at my detestation, then states grandiosely, "Oh, where are my manners? I'm here to destroy you and yet you don't even know my true name. My birth name is Seth Yakovi," He states proudly. "But I have since taken the name Vahkrov to honor my father."

"Honor." I spit, enraged by everything this—this_ lunatic_ has told me. Blaming me for his woes and completely dismissing his father's actions, murdering his own grandmother, sacrificing his own men to meet his ends…He's even worse than his father! "Your father knew_ nothing_ of honor! He was foul and depraved and—"

"My father died as he lived." Seth interrupts aloofly. "What he did in his final moments reflects that. He was always in control. Always knew what to do with his power. Unfortunately, he under estimated you. Why? Because _you _lied about your true abilities." He spits, "_That_ is not honorable. My father made no attempt to hide who he was because he'd embraced his true self. _That_ is honorable."

"Go to hell." _That has got to be the most delusional thing I have ever heard! This guy is insane! I've got to get out of here…_

"I'm sure you and I will cross paths there someday," Is his witty reply. "But for now, I'm afraid I must take my leave." He sweeps his arm into his chest and gives a mocking bow, very like his father. "You've proven yourself to be everything I'd hoped. And for that, I am truly grateful. I was afraid you were just a silly little girl who played with fire and won by mere chance. But now I see, you are a worthy adversary. A conniving, albeit delusional, murderess with an agenda all her own."

He smirks, turning his back to me, only this time, it looks like he's leaving, thank god. I thought I was going to have to make a break for it. I might still have to if Crazy over here doesn't just shut up and go already. "My father couldn't have chosen a better woman to lose his life to."

_Thanks? _

"Seth!" I call out, just before he steps off the edge of the stage. He pauses to look back at me, eye brows raised expectantly. I take a steady breath, then say with absolute honesty, "I—I don't blame you for wanting revenge. But please," I plead. "Don't hurt anyone else."

"I can't promise that." Is the Bastard's stiff reply, looking almost surprised I even bothered to voice my concerns. "In fact, your preposition is completely off the table."

I follow him to the edge of the stage just as he jumps down, shouting lividly, "This has nothing to do with them! If you want to kill me then fucking do it, but don't you dare touch my friends!"

Seth stares at me a moment, then shakes his head, looking all of a sudden very serious, like a teacher whose student just doesn't get the lesson, "You misunderstand me. I don't want to _kill _you, Elizabeth Hawthorne. Not yet anyway. But there will be time enough for more about _that _later. Until then," He nods his head to me, then says in parting, "до свидания."

Attack. Attack! Everything in my mind is screaming for me to attack the motherfucker before it's too late, but my body just won't obey me right now. I can't kill him. I know that much. But how can I just let him walk away, knowing he'll be back for me. Back for…

I gasp, realizing I've completely forgetting one, tiny detail. "What about Azazel?"

He continues walking but replies cryptically, "What do you think?"

Rage. My breath starts to come in desperate pants of loathing and my hands tremble at my sides. I clench them into fists, fighting to keep from attacking him here and now, but I'm not just going to let this little shit just get away with threatening the ones I love. "Seth Yakovi Vahkrov," My voice rings out with a strength I haven't felt since that last raid about two whole days ago, before I was forced to make a run for it to return to Bayville, "If you touch my kids…or my friends…or my _family,_" I say slowly, articulately, threateningly, before saying with all my heart, "_I will kill you._"

He stops in his tracks, frozen mid stride. His shoulders slump slightly as he exhales, like he's suddenly become short of breath, then he slowly turns to me, his dark eyes glinting in the hollow orange light, and slowly, very slowly, a gleeful smile curls his lips and touches his eyes.

* * *

**More to come soon! Until next time!**

**~THESCRIBE!**

_P.S. до свидания means Goodbye in Russian._


	14. Chapter 14 There's Something About Jean

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words and OC's.**

_**Note: I like to think of chapters as episodes in a season, not so much a three act structure, if that wasn't obvious to begin with! Anyway, if anyone has questions concerning this season (heh heh) feel free to message me. Thank you and, as always, Enjoy! ;D**_

Chapter 14: There's Something About Jean

I'm seconds away from just _collapsing_ with relief and exhaustion when my earlier suspicion is confirmed. All it takes is a snap of the Bastards' fingers for me to realize he didn't come alone after all. I just manage to whip around and throw up my hands before a woman with red and silver-streaked hair comes cart wheeling onto the stage with a look of murder in her sea green eyes and something sharp and heavy-looking in both hands.

She dives for me, a pair of spiked, brass knuckles on both fists and gives an overly-enthusiastic battle cry. I deflect both blows and land a cut across her cheek with my dagger while she goes staggering, peppering my own face with her blood while she falls to the floor, shrieking. I take her moment of recovery to look around, but the Bastard and anyone else who might have been with him are nowhere to be seen.

Time's up.

The woman leaps to her feet once more, swinging at me madly with a maniacal scream. I dodge her, moving into a Deadlocke stance in order to keep out of her reach and begin moving in swift circles. I dance around her, ducking and weaving away from those killer brass knuckles, but, in my fatigue, my left foot snags on my right and I fall back just as the woman brings her fist down.

The blow that might have bashed my head in lands on the wooden floor between my legs with enough force to splinter it, but before she can tug her hand out of the mess, I kick Knuckles hard in the face then roll to my feet and kick her a second time, the back of my heel making contact with the back of _her_ head. Her face hits the wooden floor with a deafening _bang! _And I stagger away, trying to think of what to do next. She'll recover soon enough I'm sure and even if she doesn't, I need to get out of here.

Now. I need to find Azazel. If someone _else_ hasn't already.

I back away from the stirring woman, then bring my fingers to my lips and, as a last ditch effort to get away from her, whistle, as high and loud as I can. The sound rings out, aided by the echo of the auditorium, but I'm not sure it's enough. I try calling out telepathically but I can't connect with him. The interference Emma was experiencing earlier must be prohibiting all telepathic communication still.

A long, drawn out groan catches my attention and I turn around, and—the bitch is getting back up!

She shouts something obviously profane at me in Russian, blood cascading from both her cheek and her mouth—where several teeth have been knocked out—then attacks me full on. Her fighting style is so erratic and just plain _reckless _that avoiding her is just too easy. I bring my fingers up to my lips again, ducking out of her reach, but just as I take a breath to whistle for him again, Azazel teleports before us, his back to the on-coming threat just behind him, a look of permanent irritation on his striking features. I take a running start for him, reaching him in three quick strides, and drape my arms around his shoulders whilst kicking up my legs to the fast moving murderess. I catch her in the weak spot, smashing her in the cheek with the toe of my foot with a quick _snap!_

"Let's move!" I shout, still holding onto Azazel as I straighten out, but his attention is on the bleeding woman, moaning before us, a look of grim recognition on his striking features.

"Jildara?"

"_Azazel!_" I snap, my hand appearing at my mouth faster than a whip, and whistle loudly, making him cringe and glare at me accusingly. But he doesn't argue. We teleport onto the roof of the building but he must be distracted because we land so close to the edge that I have to throw us back just to keep from going over.

"Nice going." I mutter, hoisting the Mutant to his feet. I've never seen him look so distorted before. If I weren't dragging the idiot to his feet he'd still be on the floor right now. Or worse, still staring at that Jildara woman. "We need to talk." I add grimly. If I'm going to have any chance of protecting him, Azazel _needs_ to know what's going on.

I glance around, realizing we still haven't heard any word about Jean, yet. But when I ask him, he's still got that far away look and he doesn't respond. I don't even think he heard me. I lift my hand, about to abuse my new found power once more, when he suddenly snaps out of it and catches my wrist with a deathly glare.

"So, you _were_ listening." I smirk, phasing my wrist out of his grasp. I study his face a moment longer, not liking the oddly distant look in his eyes, then ask, "Now, where's Jean?"

We both give a start when a sudden gust of what seems to be wind and dirt blows us over with the force of a small hurricane (I thought the weather report was slightly snowy!). A second gust, stronger than the first, sends us tumbling right over the edge. The horrific sensation of falling overwhelms me and I thrust out my arm, my finger already searching out the trigger of my cuff. My harpoon sinks into the concrete roof, a mere foot or so from the ground, and I throw out a hand, catching Azazel in a half cup of purple energy. I hit the side of the building with an _Auh!_ And hold fast, while that mysterious wind continues to swirl about.

Finally _waking the fuck up,_ Azazel teleports off of the platform and appears beside me, hanging in the air for a bit while his arms wrap around my waist. We teleport onto the soccer field and go stumbling as debris, fog, and snow swirls around us like a vortex. I throw up my wrists to block out the wind, retracting my harpoon back into place, and peer through the whirlwind to see a figure sailing towards us at an alarming, masked amidst the cyclone.

_Logan?_

"Look out!" I scream, tackling the big, red bimbo as Wolverine hits the soccer field like a meteor, creating a man-sized crater where we once stood. "The _hell_ is going on?!" I shout as I hurry to Logan's side, offering a hand. _**So**__ done with Azazel right now!_ Logan takes the hand, climbing out of the hole while splinters longer than my pinkie and cement chunks fall out of his rapidly healing flesh.

"It's Jean," Logan grunts, and I roll my eyes in response. I mean, _obviously _it's Jean. Unless Storm is having one hell of a menstrual cramp…"She's lost it," Logan adds. "Can't get anywhere near her without getting smashed."

"Maybe _you _can't." I mutter, trying to look for her amidst all this turmoil, wondering how in the hell she's creating a _blizzard_ with just her mind. And more importantly: Why? "Where is she?" I ask. A sudden heat wave washes over us, a strange contrast to the snowy weather, and with it comes a flying specter in the shape of a teenage girl. She flies toward us slowly, still in her soccer uniform, but she's too high up for us to see her. Her arms are extended at her sides and she remains perfectly still in spite of the chaos around her.

Your regular_ berserker_.

"Right." I breathe, then start heading towards her, trudging through the harsh wind to get to her. The two call after me, but the wind is too loud for me to hear and I _need_ to concentrate to reach her. She levitates high in the air a few feet from us, her eyes are wide, glowing with an orange glare, unseeing. She appears possessed by something, but I can't tell from here. Her red hair gives the appearance of fire from this distance and there seems to be a red-hot glow about her, reminding me of that firebird that attacked me back at the mansion.

There's definitely a connection there.

My hand grazes the taser in the second pocket of my dagger holster and I turn off the safety with my thumb. If I can get close enough, I might be able to shock her out of it. Or at least subdue her enough to return her to the institute.

I lift my fingers to my temple and focus intently on levitation and intangibility. Unfortunately, even as I begin to climb high into the sky, I find myself beginning to waver. I don't think I even need to say _why_ at this point. Two days without sleep, numerous battles, and non-stop intrigue. It's not healthy. I drop my concentration once but luckily the wind picks me up, and, after a second, I'm able to regain my bearings.

"Jean!" I scream over the din, approaching her with increasing caution. If she attacks my psychically it'd be a fifty foot drop from here. "Jean, it's me: Elizabeth Hawthorne!"

She turns her head to me slowly, only just _now_ taking an interest in me, but her face remains placid, emotionless. "Come on, Jean. You're in _danger_ here." I plead, lifting both hands to my temples in an attempt to keep myself aloft. "The MRD will be here any second!"

The winds around us start to calm, and my hope begins to lift. That is, until she slowly lifts a hand, her fingers extended, and grabs me in a telekinetic hold. It feels like a hand has wrapped around my mid section and my arms and legs are being stretched out and held in place by some invisible force. It also feel like, at any second, I could be quartered with the flick of a wrist; a highly unsettling thought.

" 'Elizabeth Hawthorne,' '" Jean says telepathically, her voice sounding different somehow in my head, it's so…detached and otherworldly, like she's an entirely different being altogether. " 'Nightshade…Ghostgirl…' "

…_Yeahhh, that's me…_

" 'Yes Jean,' " I reply back, keeping my voice low and earnest while I struggle to relax my body, in case she thinks I'm trying to escape. Something is very wrong about her right now but we just don't have time to work it out. We need to leave _right now. "_ 'It's me. Please…' " I attempt to reach out a hand, " 'Let me help you.' "

The placid look on Jean's face contorts with sudden discomfort and she nearly drops me when she squeezes her eyes shut and presses her hands against her forehead. "Jean?" I cry aloud, noticing the wind begin to pick up with more ferocity. Only now the white and blue color scheme of the whirlwind has taken on a more reddish color, like we're on fire. She's losing it. "Jean, what's wrong?!"

She peers up at me through bleary, bright green eyes, and for a brief moment, she appears to be back to normal. Her eyes are pleading, fearful, "Help…me—"

The world stops.

I mean, it literally _stops. _The wind, the snow, the sound, _everything_. I peer down, down, down at the others to find Logan and Azazel, frozen, and about to be snuck up on by a group of MRD's hiding behind the main building, ready to shoot. Angel and Tony are still nowhere to be seen. Only myself and Jean are the ones still moving, as we have steadily begun to descend back onto the trashed soccer field at a nice and slow pace. Snow flakes, stuck fast in time, fall against my cheeks like I'm moving through a chilly curtain and every now and again, pieces of debris bounce against my skin and go sailing through the air, seemingly without end. It's…incredible, to say the least.

"Jean," I whisper, too awed to be afraid at the moment. "What—?"

But when I look to her, her eyes are glowing once more and that same serene look as before. Her next words couldn't be more cryptic, "You are bound. As am I. But one day," She lifts her arms out to her sides, releasing her hold on me, and we touch down on the ground lightly. Her hair falls around her face; a blanket of fire on flesh and the hollows of her eyes deepen to black. "We will _both_ be free."

And then time itself resumes.

The next sequence of events happens so quickly, so sporadically, that I can't quite tell if Jean is still manipulating time or not because suddenly Jean is collapsing, the wind is dying, the boys are yelling, and we're running and fighting to get away from the MRD. It's only after Angel arrives, with his seared wing and busted ankle, to take Jean from my arms that I finally zone back in to what's happening.

To find that I'm in the infirmary back at the Mansion.

"What do you mean, she's gone?!" I hear Logan shouting in the distance. I look across the way and see Tony sitting on one of the beds, a hand at his head, seeming to be in deep though while Storm hands him an ice pack for the welt pushing its way past his hair. Warren must be in another room. Jean is nowhere to be seen but I'm sure she's fine. "She was just here!"

"You are awake." Azazel observes. I didn't realize he was here. His hair is wind-blown—if that even describes it accurately—and his suit must have been tattered to all hell because he now wears plain black pants and a simple t—shirt to match, making me wonder how long we've been here. I sit up, blinking for what feels like the first time in hours, and touch a hand to my head, asking hoarsely, "How long have I been like this?"

"She _must _be with the Brotherhood," I hear Hank saying across the way, catching both of our attention. "But there's nothing we can do about that now. It's Rogue's choice—"

"No!" Logan shouts, his voice carrying down that hall, moving further away. "Someone needs to talk some _sense_ into that girl…"

I blink, still too numb to let the worry sink in right now. Rogues' gone AWOL. Perfect. Just what I need. Just what we _all_ need. So much for our little heart to heart I was planning on later...

Getting back to my question, Azazel turns his eye back to me. His gaze is tired, reminding me that he's probably gotten about as much asleep as I have, and he runs a hand through his snow-soaked hair, saying, "Not long."

I examine his face, his posture, noticing the slump in his shoulders, the crescents under his eyes, and the scratch marks he's received from Jean's little wind fiasco. Nothing too serious. But the man's _got _to get some sleep. "What happened?" I ask, a little unnerved by the idea of me being so zoned out for so long. Especially with Russian Norman Bates still on the loose.

"I cannot say for certain."

_Wow, big help __**you**__ are…_

"Azazel…" He looks at me questioningly but I'm staring at the wall, my hands knitted before my lips in thought. "What the hell is going on around here?" Everything's so messed up. The MRD gaining power, Magneto slipping more and more into the Extremist life style, Kelly rising to the challenge, Jean and Xavier losing their minds, Seth… And then there's me and my dumb ass getting caught in the middle. "It's like the world's gone _insane._"

He stands up and crosses over to me, stopping to stand right in front of me. He offers his hand. I sigh, but take it, getting to my feet, but he doesn't let go of my hand. I look up at him curiously, intrigued. His eyes are still tired but there's an alertness to them that quickens my breath. "What?" I whisper, my eyes flicking over to where Tony, Storm and Angel continue to chat, but they're too involved in their conversation to notice.

He lowers his own voice, saying quietly, "There is something I must tell you."

Interesting, "I was just thinking the same thing." I say gravely. This is long overdue. "We need to talk. Privately."

His hand tightens around mine, "I know a place."

* * *

I give a small gasp, looking up at him with excitement as we enter the small church attic, "Oh…" I laugh, gazing around fondly at the stained glass windows, the wooden pews padded with red cushions, the candles flickering in the shadows, as if they've never been blown out since the last time I was here. The air still holds a mystical feel to it, making me feel welcome and intrusive at the same time. "I haven't been here in ages!"

Azazel follows silently behind me, a scarlet shadow, "You know this place?"

"Warren took me here once, about a year ago." I murmur absently, stepping right up to the Virgin Mary, standing tall and welcoming as ever before the largest stained glass window, bearing an ominous cross that makes me feel very small in comparison. I reach out a hand to one of her outstretched ones and run my fingers over the dusty, porcelain palm.

I turn to Azazel and he straightens up as I address him, asking, "How do _you _know this place?"

"The same," He replies aloofly, his hands clasped behind his back, but his twitching tail and short responses betray his anxiety. "Warren is nice guy. Very friendly. Very…" He grapples for the word for a painfully long time until he finally gives up and advances on me, taking hold of my arms, "There is something I must tell you."

"I think we've established that." I observe, tilting my head to the side, "What is it? What's going on?" I doubt it'll top _my _news but let's see what this is about.

"I—have not been truthful with you." He opens his mouth, fighting to maintain eye contact with me, but fails miserably, and moves away, turning his back to me as he says, "When Mr. Stark found me, I was not searching for the Psylocke. I had given up on this long ago."

"Then..." I may already know the answer, but I feel obligated to ask anyway. "Who _were_ you looking for?"

"He is called the Bastard," _Bingo. _"He is new head of the Russian Mafia and…" He keeps his back to me, tail making nervous flicking movements behind him. He runs a tremulous hand through his hair, his profile outlined just…perfectly in the dim light (not that I'm looking), and says, "He is the bastard son of Grigori Vahkrov. I have been followed by his men, but never attacked. I knew he would find us. I was to find him before this could happen."

I give it a good pause, nodding my head along silently, then, when I'm sure he's finished, I say, "It already did."

He turns to me, shocked, but I'm glad. Now I don't have to explain quite so much, and Azazel already understands what a threat this is. He probably already has more information that can help me learn more about this freak show! It also confirms the suspicion that Azazel isn't the _main _target here but he's definitely being tailed. Which means I am, too. Which means everyone _else_ is, too.

…Fuck.

I take a reluctant seat in one of the pews and gesture for him to sit. Then, I tell him about the attack, about my suspicions about the Bastard and my own little hunt to find out who he was. Then finally, I tell him about the Bastards' most recent visit.

"He must have been investigating the kids today," I say, my stomach going queasy at the thought. "People who are close to us." I touch a hand my chin. "He probably wasn't even expecting us to show up. God…you wouldn't believe how _excited_ he was to meet me! The man was_ completely_ psychotic."

"I can believe." Azazel replies, looking deeply unsettled. "He was raised by a mad man. Grew up on tough streets and fought every day of his life just to stay alive. Somewhere along the way, he grew bored of it. He was reckless. Looking for trouble. But it was never enough. He is psychopath. And a_ bored_ one. Very dangerous." He surmises with a shrug.

"Good to know." I lean back against the pews, all of a sudden feeling very, _very_ tired. "So what do we do? We can't _kill_ him. At least, _I_ can't." I add with a look that says, _'do with that what you will_.' "And I have the feeling he's too smart to outrun." The only alternative is death. The death of him, or the death of me. Neither one sounds very good at the moment. I groan, frustrated, "And then this thing with Jean and Charles…"

"What did she say to you?" Azazel asks abruptly. "While you were up there?"

"Hmm," I think back, her words echoing in my head, then repeat them, "'You are bound. As am I. But one day, we will both be free.'" I run a finger across my lips in thought. "There's something about Jean that's definitely wrong. There's no way this was just some mental lapse. Someone is _attacking _her. Something has attached itself to her." Just like Emma way back when we were still working for Erik and Warwick was setting a trap for us. "And now…" I realize I'm thinking aloud again and look up to find you-know-who staring at me, an eye brow raised and a smirk planted firmly on his lips. He has his arm resting on the back of the pew and his tilted head resting o his knuckles, like he's studying some strange creature in its natural habitat.

"What?" I ask with a slight laugh, a little embarrassed. Always catching me at my worst. Some things never change.

He scoffs lightly, lifting his other hand to move a strand of hair from my face, but, as he does so, I notice the smirk fade from his face, and a hard look take its place. He drops his arm and straightens up, saying, "You frightened me earlier. You seemed not as yourself. Like in Vanhouven."

"_You_ act like we never left." I reply sagely. I can't believe I was so out of it! Did Jean really send me back to that state? The events of Vanhouven after what happened with Grigori are pretty much a blur to me now. I remember vague things but…I prefer not to think about that. I was way out of control back then. Suicidal. I've got things more under my control now. All I need to do is wrap this shit up with Erik, get my body back, and see about forging a new foundation like Warren suggested so long ago; maybe right here in Bayville, who knows?

"It feels this way, yes," Azazel admits, shifting uncomfortably. "But…perhaps is time to move on."

"I was just thinking the same thing." I nod in agreement. "And besides, we've got new problems to deal with at the moment. After all," I smirk mischievously. "We still need to make that overseas trip of ours."

" 'Yeah, I'm still holding you to that.' " I add telepathically.

He shakes his head, cursing playfully in Russian, "If I am one more night without sleep, I will die."

I roll my eyes and get to my feet, offering my hand with a scoff, "Pfft, you big baby."

* * *

_**Thanks for reading. More to come soon, I hope. Until Next Time…**_

_**~THESCRIBE! ;D**_


	15. Chapter 15 Good Talk

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words and OC's! Thank you and Enjoy ;D**

Chapter 15: Good Talk

When I walk in, she has her hands folded in her lap, like she's doing hard time at a _federal prison;_ not taking a breather at the Institute's infirmary. Her coppery hair falls messily about her face and her pale lips are pressed tightly together. The poor girl looks like she's about to pass out any second. I knock on the door and she looks up quickly, her jade green eyes taking me in for a moment before she quickly looks down again.

"How are you feeling?" I murmur, hesitating at the doorway. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. But I felt I should say something. How am I just supposed to leave it alone after all that?

To my surprise, Jean answers me, saying softly, "Still a little fuzzy."

Taking this as an invitation, I start inside, saying gently, "Well, the Professor seems to be coming around. He should be in to see you soon." I take a seat on a chair across from the infirmary bed in which she sits, saying, "But I wanted to fill you in on what you might have missed before…" _Before I high tail it out of here._"Before he gets here." I incline my head forward, asking, "Do you remember anything?"

Jean's fingers tighten over her hand and shakes her head, groaning, "It's all so confusing…I—haven't been getting much sleep lately." She adds, glancing up at me through tired eyes, where bags can plainly be seen on her blanched skin. "But…" She pauses, apparently chewing on her next words.

"What is it?" I venture to ask, leaning forward on my elbows.

"I lost control." Is her distressed reply. She brings her hands up to her face, covering her nose and mouth in anguish. "I don't even…remember _why,_ but..." She sniffs hopelessly, moving her long hair out of her face, probably out of habit. "Something is _wrong_ with me. I can _feel_ it." She looks at me under a knitted brow, saying, "I knew I wasn't in control anymore but there was nothing I could _do._ And then I was there, waking up in your arms." She gives a small, grateful smile, "You caught me."

"Hm," I say in surprise, "That's news to me." I know Warren took her from my arms but I don't remember me _catching _her.

She gives me a curious look, "You—don't remember it either?"

It looks like neither of us remember _all _of what happened. "Jean," I say cautiously. "Do you remember talking to me at all?" She shakes her head. I get up and start pacing as I speak, saying, "That's really strange because, at the time, it seemed to me that you and I _connected_ somehow. You trusted me enough to let me get in close and you even came down with me." I frown, wondering_why_ but figuring it'd be a little rude to ask. I'm just glad she came down at all. "But for some reason, after we landed, **_I_** spaced out myself."

Jean leans forward, looking interested and appalled at the same time, "Did _I _do that?"

I cease my pacing and study her carefully, "I honestly can't answer that question."

Understanding my meaning, she looks down, her hands knitted in her lap, then says, "I keep hearing voices. Not just the ones that come from being able to read people's thoughts, but my own as well." _Schizophrenia?_ "It's like there's another little voice inside of me. But I can never understand what it's saying."

She must have been be dying to tell this to someone. I don't know why but she really does trust me. But I'm not the one she should be confiding in. Not on this matter at least. I cross my arms, still standing, then ask, "Does the Professor know?" She looks away, guilt-stricken. I don't have to be a mind reader to put _that one _together. "You haven't told him, have you?"

She shakes her head. I frown, confused. She would trust _me_ but not the Professor?! Too weird. "Why me?" I ask at last. "You seemed to trust me even when you weren't in control. Any idea why?"

She just shrugs, her hand absently going to her arm. She offers a small, humorless smile, "You might say I'm the trusting type."

"_But_ not with the Professor." I press, not wanting to drop this subject. It's just too weird.

Jean glances away, looking even more stressed than before, "..It's hard to explain." She mumbles, her pale cheeks flushing red, "I just…don't want to trouble him anymore. It took us _years_ to work through my abilities together and I'm _still _learning to control it even now. It feels like I'm—" she chokes on her words, her hand going to her throat like the words are trying to strangle her. "Like I'm going…"

"Crazy?"

She looks up and me and meets my eye full on. Her eyes are so lost and hopeless. My own gaze is tired and understanding. She nods her head solemnly, a tear welling in her right eye.

"Jean…" I step over to her side and reach out a comforting hand, and, to my surprise, she wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my shoulder.

"I don't know what to do!" She cries while I stroke her hair, similarly to the way I do when I'm babysitting Shay for Tarina and she has a headache, of which she gets frequently. _They'd better be alright…_ "I _know_ I need to tell the Professor but—" She pulls back, wiping her eyes, then says tremulously. "I'm just so _scared_ that he can't help me anymore. I feel like-like he's…"

I offer her a tissue, plucked from the sink in the corner, and ask, "Like he's what?"

She takes the tissue, looks at it miserably, then bursts into tears once more, moaning, "_I think he's afraid of me!_"

I chew on my lips, hopelessly lost on this one. I still don't fully understand what's going on here. Jean seems to think she's cracked up but I think it's something else. An outside attack. But I have no evidence to prove that. "Hiding this from him won't help you. We don't know what this is and for all we know this could be an outside attack. But," I add pointedly at her doubtful look. "If you're not ready to tell him, _don't_. Maybe this is something you need to discover on your own."

Her look is inquisitive and some of her confidence seems to return to her eyes as she perks up, asking, "How?"

"I hate to be all cryptic but that's something you're going to have to find out for yourself." She frowns at me, as though to say, 'seriously? That's all you've got for me?' and I give an apologetic shrug, then take a seat beside her, saying, "If you want my opinion, I think maybe it's time to get some _new _help. Have you ever thought about talking to Emma?"

"I was afraid you'd say that." She sniffs, flicking her fingers and sending the tissue floating across the room, where it lands delicately in the trash bin. She changes the direction of her hand and summons a second tissue from the box, drawing it to her in a circular motion."I've _tried_ to but…it's not that simple. I feel like she doesn't trust me."

Emma has been known to give off that kind of air before. She _is _an intimidating force to be reckoned with. But I'm sure she'd be more than willing to help a struggling student. It took her a while to warm up to me after all and now look at us! "Emma's sort of a two way street." I say carefully. "You have to meet her half-way. But if you want, I would be more than willing to put in a good word for you. I think you could use a second opinion on this one. And if anyone knows crazy," I find myself grinning. "It's Emma."

But Jean isn't smiling, "Everyone thinks _I'm _crazy now…"

"Your friends don't think you're crazy," I say evenly. "They're very worried about you."

She gives me _that look_ again and I feel her mind brush forcefully against mine, "You don't know that."

"I don't have to." I say with a cringe. Her telepathy is so strong! Ohhh, I'm gonna have a head ache after all this! "You _know _they care about you. And they'd do anything to help you. Now," I say brightly, getting to my feet. "Why don't you go talk to them? I'm sure they're dying to get the scoop."

Jean thinks about this a moment, struggling with herself, before she finally takes a deep breath and concedes, "Alright," She breathes, getting to her feet with a look of determination mingled with apprehension on her proud features. She's brave, I'll grant her that. Even I struggle to face my peers after a major incident. It's humiliating and embarrassing and down right painful at times. But she'll do it anyway. That takes guts. Respect. "Thank you," She adds, pausing with her hand on the doorframe. "And—if you need anything; anything at all…" She gives me a significant look, her eyes boring right through me as she says, "You know where to find me."

I nod my thanks, unnerved once more for some reason, and watch her go. There's _one_ thing checked off my list.

Now, to keep my promise.

* * *

My palm comes down on the desk firmly, and my voice likewise, "You _know_ something's up, Emma."

The telepath/Headmistress/former member of the brotherhood of Mutants looks up at me, setting down her itinerary for her next class period—Levitation and Hovering: How _You_ Can Stay Aloft—with a tired sigh, "Your point is?"

I begin my usual method of reasoning by pacing in front of her desk, exclaiming, "_At least _talk to her about it!"

"I have a _school_ to run, Elizabeth," Emma argues, folding her hands before on her desk with a very cool look inspite of the telepathic turmoil she underwent just a few hours ago. The woman is a _rock_, what can I say? "_And_ a Professor that needs caring for. He still can't speak to us as of yet!"

"She _needs _help, Emma." I say desperately, wondering why this is taking so much convincing just to get through to her. Maybe she's scared of Jean, too. Or at least, what Jean _became_ back at the school. Maybe she just needs a fresh reminder of the severity of the situation, "She took down half the school and almost threw Azazel and I off a _building!_"

"_After_ you encountered the Bastard." She points out icily, her blue eyes piercing me like a blade. _Busted!_

I speak without thinking, asking, "How did you—?" before I remember she's a **telepath**…"Oh."

"Wow."

"Shut up!" I mutter, face flushing with embarrassment, then say telepathically, " 'I was going to tell you, alright?' "

"Yes," Emma observes, standing up intimidatingly at her desk with a hard, reprehensive look. "Right after telling me about your soon-to-be departure for Genosha."

"Emma!" I whine, wishing she would try to see things from my perspective and—you know—not probe my mind for answers! It creeps me out and Jean just didn't the same thing moments ago, not to mention that rebellious teen with an unknown amount of my memories still tucked under her belt who is currently on the loose. Man, cut me a break will ya?!

"It's like you forget who I am, _honestly!_" Emma groans as she begins to leave her study, pressing her finger tips into the bridge of her nose. I follow after her, struggling to match her swift, long-legged stride, "Did you _really_ think I wouldn't find out?"

"Emma, please!" I press my lips together, looking around to make sure we're not being heard while we head down the hall towards the backyard. "It's _my _problem. I wanted to handle it discreetly," I step outside and am surprised to find it nearly dark outside, making it somewhat difficult to see, "I have the full the intent of returning, but I have to do this—" I trip on the step leading outside and Emma pauses, her hand quickly grasping my arm, to stead me. I take the moment to meet her eye, saying desperately, "_He has my body._"

"Then let me _help _you." Emma persists, dropping my arm.

I cross my own arms, "You have a school to run, remember?" I say, throwing her earlier words back in her face as we resume walking, this time heading under the connecting boardwalk that leads from the main building to the training studio in the back, meant for flight practices and obstacle courses. The sun is just starting to go down, making for a lovely sunset that highlights the large property and forest-like back yard, and some teens, still hyped up from the school's recent dismantling, are still enjoying the snowy weather outside.

"And it shouldn't take three people." I continue stubbornly. "It's an in and out job. Nothing more."

"Then I don't suppose you'll want to take the jet?" Emma questions smugly, but I have no intention of using the jet at all.

"The jet is too obvious," I explain shortly, grateful for the even pathway the boardwalk provides. A high tech Frisbee flies right at us, spinning at a dangerous speed, and I only just manage to go intangible before it goes right through my head. We pause to see a teleporter with long pigtails going down to her waist running towards us, only to disappear into the wind and whistle past us, shouting an apology as she chases after the disc. I turn to Emma, resuming our talk as if nothing had happened, "Magneto would see us coming from a mile away."

"Then you'll be taking a ship."

When I don't confirm this right away, she says sarcastically, "Or did you not think that far ahead?"

I glower at her in silence, then say, "I just need my body, Emma." I start to walk again, needing desperately to _move_, "I can't wait any longer—"

Emma catches my forearm and holds me at bay, saying authoritatively, "You are in _no_ condition to do this. With our without my help." She lowers her voice, ignoring the odd looks we're getting from the students, who have stopped their gallivanting in the snow to look after us curiously.

I wrench my arm away with sudden distress. I _have _to go! I have to go _right now!_ " 'You don't understand!' " I snap, taking this party to our minds. " 'It's _maddening _knowing that-that there's nothing I can _do._ Even when I am separated from my physical body, I'm still putting myself at risk. But reuniting with it is so much worse!' " I look away, devastated, my gaze finding the snow much more appealing than her searching eyes, " 'You have no idea what that's like.' "

"I have some idea," Emma says, resuming our walk once more. I follow, listening intently as she goes on to say, "Believe it or not. When I am in my diamond form, I cannot use telepathy. It is…frightening." She admits, taking a turn away from the studio we were headed towards to take a separate path leading to an open area, where a nice little ivory pergola carved with vines and leaves awaits us.

"I always stand the risk of a telepathic attack," She continues, heading right towards the pergola with intent. "But at the same time, my diamond form is a failsafe in the event that my telepathy should fail." She stops at the pergola, to gaze out at the seaside view dreamily. The view is spectacular due to the falling sun's colorful glare but the windchill being picked up from the crashing waves below blast us with frigid air that sinks right in to the leather of my black jacket. Emma turns her gaze to me earnestly, and says, "Just as your body has kept you alive all this time. Which is why I give you my leave to go."

She says it so quickly I almost don't catch it. Even when she turns on her heel, platinum hair sweeping out behind her, and starts to leave. "But I ask that you wait at least another day," She continues while I scramble to catch up with her. "to get your bearings and rest. You'll go mad if you don't. And I wasn't lying before." She pauses, hands in the pockets of her own heavily furred jacket, with a playful smirk, "You really _do _look awful."

I smile back faintly, "So..." I sigh, defeated but glad she's at least going to back me up on this one. "What do you suggest, oh, wise one?"

"Like I said," She replies, looking relieved as she paves a steady path back to the mansion. "Stay for now and get some rest. In the mean time, we'll come up with a plan _together._" We stop at the door and she places one hand on the handle and the other on my shoulder, "You and I and Azazel. The others don't have to know about it just yet."

I nod my thanks, feeling not-so-alone all of a sudden. I have Emma on my side and Azazel as well. I don't have to do this alone, "Thank you." I attempt a smile but find I can't manage it. My appreciation, my gratefulness, my general sense of inclusion is too great. Emma smiles for me, completely understanding, then holds the door open for me, asking, "Now, what happened with the Bastard?"

"It was—" I start to say, but the pounding of feet quickly catches both of our attention and I shut up just as Bobby, the Ice Boy, comes running towards us, shouting, "Headmistress! Nightshade! Come quick." He looks between the two of us with shinning blue eyes and a crooked smile, "You're on TV!"

"What?" Emma breathes, staring down at the blonde-haired, panting teen with a look of horror and disbelief.

"It's all over the news!" Bobby says excitedly, his young face alight with delight, like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him, "You've gone viral!" He waves us over, and starts down the hall, calling impatiently, "Come on!"

Emma and I exchange worried glances, then hurry after him.

_This cannot be good._

* * *

**_Okay, I'm not gonna lie...writing for Jean is extremely difficult for me. Her personality feels a little flat and she always seemed to me like more of a plot-vehicle rather than an actual person with discernible traits. That being said, Jean is a fascinating Mutant and character due to her Mutation and her inevitable meltdown which is why I'll be working to include her more in this fic, as she and Nightshade have a lot more in common than either of them knows just yet. If anyone has comments or suggestions please feel free to comment them/review. Until next time..._**

**_~THESCRIBE;D_**


	16. Chapter 16 Bayville's Most Wanted

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words and OC's. Thank you and Enjoy;D**

Chapter 16: Bayville's Most Wanted

We enter the main lounge, where holidays are typically held and lights already decorate the place, and find that half the school is planted in front of the wide screen TV; some sitting, some standing, some _floating_, while the adults linger in the back with grave looks on their faces. Only Azazel, Jean, the Professor, Angel, and Kurt seem to be missing from this party. I know Xavier, Jean probably, and Warren are still in the infirmary and Kurt is probably off hanging out with his friends, but Azazel? Where the hell could _he_ be? Though I shouldn't be surprised. He was rarely at the mansion back when we first joined Magneto so many years ago. But back then, he was also a double crossing, back stabbing, devilishly good-looking fiend.

Let's just hope that's not the case _this_ time around.

As Emma and I step into view, all eyes turn to us and the teens erupt in rounds of applause and cheers, much to our chagrin. We haven't even seen the TV yet, but we already know it's bad.

"Yeah! You showed them!"

"That'll teach 'em to mess with our Head Mistress!"

"Fuck the MRD!"

"Fuck the police!"

The shout-out, made by a student with lively purple hair, is met with laughter and followed by more enthusiastic obscenities. This does not go over well with Emma.

"Alright, that's enough!" Emma snaps, clapping her hands together, and begins to explain why "fucking the police" is bad, while my eyes fasten themselves to the television screen. There, in plain view, am I in the parking lot, facing off the MRD's with glowing eyes, a bruised cheek from my escape from Genosha, and frizzy hair (Can't help but notice it. It's fucking everywhere!). They manage to get a nice shot of me shooting my harpoon into one of the MRD's jackets and reeling him in before slamming him on the ground with my energy shield, then the clip cuts to Emma, still in her diamond form, running to my aid and windmill kicking two officers, and round housing another, but she's moving so fast (and her skin is so bright) that you can't quite identify her.

Thank god! I can't imagine if the police went after Emma.

I, on the other hand, am unmistakable; as announced by the spritely news reporter, Sarah Mitchells, "…more on this most recent development involving this particular Mutant—" The video freezes on me with my glowing eyes, surrounded by a ring of glowing energy, and zooms in on my face. "Now identified as Elizabeth Hawthorne; assumed dead nearly two decades ago, she has _apparently_ returned to life."

The police chief of Bayville (according to the title crawl below) appears on screen, addressing the public at a podium in front of city hall, and raises his hands to calm the crowd, saying urgently, "As of now, we have little information about this woman and what her motives are. That being said, she is considered armed and extremely dangerous. If you spot this woman, please contact the MRD. Do _not _engage her."

My god, you'd think I'm some kind of mass murderer! Kelly must be telling stories. That or our little stunt earlier has gained some serious publicity thanks to the social media.

"Hawthornes' accomplice—" Sarah Mitchells goes on to say, showing an image of Emma fleeing the scene, "Seen here—has yet to be named, but she too, is considered a city-wide threat. Could these be the latest additions to the Brotherhood?" Mitchells asks with a ridiculously inquisitive smirk. "_Senator Kelly_ seems to think so."

Kelly's hawk-like eyes are suddenly staring my blankly in the face and rage boils up in my chest at the mere sight of him. He is the epitome of human depravity in my eyes, right alongside Stryker, Trask, Essex, and the Vahkrovs. "This isn't the first time we've run into trouble with these particular Mutants," He's saying smugly. "And it won't be the last. Hawthorne, otherwise known as the_ Ghostgirl,"_ Kelly adds with exceptional pleasure, making me cringe inside indignantly. "Is a menace to society and a threat to the upcoming Peace Summit set to occur in the next few months."

At word of the Peace Summit, the press goes _insane_, asking for exact dates, itineraries, guest speakers, and—more importantly—what protocols Mutants must follow if Mutants will even be allowed in attendance. Emma and I exchange glances but that's all the rest of us can do as reality hits us all like a rock. Stark looks more shaken than any of us.

"I don't believe this." He murmurs, reminding me that he's still here. I would have thought he'd get tired of us and go back to his pent house back in richman's land, but no. He seems bound to us. Like he can't help but stick around and find out what's going on here. Is his world really so cut off from ours that he truly had no idea how bad this has gotten? He catches my eye, probably remembering our talk from that first night we met, but I have the feeling it's only now that he realizes I meant every word I said.

"Please," Kelly finally manages to shout over the crowd, drawing everyone's attention once more, "We will answer all of your questions in due time. Until then," Again, his dark eyes seem to be looking right at us as he says, "I want these Mutants apprehended and brought to justice."

But it seems that someone is on our side, a woman with a pixie cut of jet black hair and a sharp, bright blue blazer, "What about the allegations that the Mutants were wrongfully provoked?"

Kelly says nothing at first, his glare cutting right through the woman, but her face remains hard and accusing. Could she be a mutant or just a citizen who recognizes injustice? "…That will be all," Kelly says curtly, pushing his glasses further up his nose, "Thank you."

Kelly leaves abruptly, leaving a mass of fussing paparazzi and reporters in his wake while Sarah Mitchells wraps things up with pictures of the demolished school filling the screen in his place, "The crisis at Bayville High continues to be examined; however, we have no information about how the school was destroyed or who was responsible at this time. Or whether or not those two most recent attacks are related."

"Thank you, Sarah." A man with hair so heavily jelled it casts a glare on the screen says; his falsely bright smile is equally unnerving as he continues on to another hot topic, "In other words, local icon and national heartthrob Tony Stark was spotted earlier today…"

We tune out the TV and Emma waves her hand, saying telepathically, " 'In my study. Now.' "

I move to follow her along with the others who received the Headmistress's message, including Storm, Logan, Hank, and even Stark, but she stops me saying to me alone, " 'Get some rest. I'll fill you in later.' "

I give a huff in protest but do as she says, and, instead, go to find my room.

But first, I need to find Azazel.

I pass by his room and realize they're having a heart to heart. I was just seconds away from opening the door when I heard them speaking. But I can't quite make out what they're saying or see what's going on. Feeling I'm entitled to a little snoopery, I turn invisible, and cautiously poke my head inside. Azazel, I find, sits across from his son at the small table in his room, his hands folded very seriously before him, and Kurt appears to be distraught by what his estranged father is telling him.

"But you just got here." The blue-furred teen is saying, "I thought Ms. Hawthorne said—"

"She and I have business on Genosha." Is Azazel's curt reply. If he's trying to be comforting, it's not really working. I phase into the room further, curiosity driving me in. Still, Kurt won't give up so easily, rising from the table in his passion as he cries, "Then let me come with you!" Azazel rises slowly from his seat and listens while Kurt says something in Russian, standing only a little shorter than Azazel is now, before the teen adds in a small voice, "I can help you."

Azazel puts his hands on his son's shoulders, a look of genuine apology on his striking features. I hope Kurt can read his father well enough to see it, however, "I am sorry." Azazel says with finality. "This cannot wait any longer."

I go back to my room and immediately begin to pack.

If I leave now, I'll have a good enough head start to jump on the next ship out to Genosha. Why am I leaving without him _again?_ Maybe I'm just going a little nuts here but…I just couldn't do it. I couldn't burst into that room and take Azazel away from his son. I couldn't sit there and tell Kurt that we'll be leaving on the morrow and that he just needs to suck it up because _my_ problems are slightly bigger than his. I just couldn't do it. It might not be the smartest move ever, but I simply _cannot _do what I need to right now.

I'll pay for it in my own time.

I whirl around to grab my broadswords, snug in their holster, from the desk they're leaning up against and freeze when I find Azazel already holding it.

So much for _that._

"You used the door," I observe tensely, breathing at last. Only this time, I'm genuinely pissed that he snuck up on me again. And this time, he did so without jump-scaring me to death! How the hell did he manage that?!

Note to self: _Lock the damned door! _

"What are you doing?" He asks almost-tiredly, but I can see in his eyes that he's pissed. I march over to him, reaching out a hand for my broadswords with a snappish, "What's it look like?" He moves the case just out of my reach, like a school yard bully stealing someone's lunch money.

"Azazel…" I warn, my eyes glowing, but he bites right back, growling, "You are _not_ to be doing this to me again. We are _together_ in this!"

"No," I argue stubbornly. "_You're_ staying. You're _needed_ here!"

"And _you_ are not?" Is Azazel's livid reply. "What of Jean? Of Rogue?" He averts his eye, gaze turning rueful. "Logan?"

"Careful," I mutter, snatching my broadswords out of his hand with the help of some intangibility and sheer _anger_. "You wouldn't want to say something you might regret."

He watches me sling the case across my shoulders over a plain black, tight-fitting sweater. It fits snuggly against the curve of my back, and should rest flatly under my leather jacket. Azazel approaches, muttering challengingly, "Then what am I to say?"

"That you'll_ stay_." I snap, Kurt's deeply disappointed face still stuck in my mind. "That this isn't your fight anyway and that you'll just forget about it."

"I did this once." Azazel argues solemnly, stopping me dead in my tracks. "Now you ask me to do it again." He touches a finger to his temple with the slight shake of his head, "I will not be forgetting this time. I _will_ help you. You cannot ask me to do otherwise." He inclines his head forward, catching my eye and says firmly, "You_ need_ me."

I study him, my eyes flickering between both of his. He's right, of course. I just don't want to admit it. I _can't_ admit it. I'd been willing to rough it alone just to avoid doing the hard thing and making the tougher choice. I know I need his help and I know that even if I did push him away, he'd just come anyway, rendering my little rant just now completely pointless. God, I'm losing it…

My hand goes to the strap stretched diagonally across my chest and I move it off my shoulder with a flourish before holding it out, level with my shoulder, and letting it drop on my bed with a faint, _thwump. _I cross my arms, "We're staying one more day then." I say, as if it were my idea the whole time. I ain't about to apologize! "Can you handle that?"

He scoffs, crossing his own arms mockingly, then asks, "What is one day?"

Taking this for literal, I roll my eyes, "Don't ask me," I say, annoyed, then turn away as I begin to fumble with the tie in my hair, as I'd put it up in my usual ponytail when I thought I was leaving on a mission. Don't need my hair getting in the way during a fight. Or a flight. "Emma seems to think we need sleep or something."

"What a strange woman." Azazel comments in what I might assume to be a joking tone, crossing over to the opposite side of the bed while I let my hair down, feeling a bit better with it around my neck. I feel like ponytails, while the keep the hair out of your face, only create a better handle for people to latch onto. Azazel's tone turns slightly teasing, "So, she is able to read your mind after all, da?"

"Even _I _can't fully block out a telepath as powerful as her." I say in my own defense as I set my broad swords down and begin to remove the cuffs from my wrists. I've always been more tolerant of telepathic attacks, able to block out the Professor, Psylocke and even Emma _to an extent._ But it really doesn't take much to break down those barriers if they try hard enough. "And she could have just as easily read _your _mind, you know!"

He gives a light chuckle while I set the cuffs on the nightstand, a yawn caught in my throat, and I sit down on the edge of the bed to start unlacing my boots. Took me forever just to get my knotting right and now I've gotta undo it all over again.

"Perhaps," Azazel agrees, tossing himself onto the bed with a heavy thud. I look to him sharply and find him kicking back on my bed with his hands behind his head, still wearing that tight t-shirt, but his shoes are no longer on. He's made himself completely comfortable!

"And just what in the hell do you think you're doing?" I snap, jumping up indignantly.

"You think I will let you out of sight again?"

I cross my arms, "I told you I'm not going anywhere."

"I do not believe this for one second." Is Azazel's firm reply. "And besides, this is not first time we have had this argument."

_Truuuue…_

I sigh, "So you're just going to stay there?"

He closes his eyes, hands still behind his head and murmurs, "Mm-hm."

I give a small groan, tired of arguing, and sit on the bed with an aloof, "You're lucky you're cute."

At this, he raises his head and peers at me, "What was that?"

"Hm—Nothing just go to sleep." I reply quickly, preparing to turn off the lights, but before I do, I give him a once over, taking in his red skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the tightness of his shirt, "You look like hell."

The lights go off with a _click!_

* * *

**_More chapters coming up soon! Things have been moving pretty fast but they're about to slow down a bit. Not any time too soon, of course, but down time __is_****_coming! Until then..._**

**_~THESCRIBE!;D_**


	17. Chapter 17 Elementary, My Dear Howlett!

**So. Much. Drama. I promise it'll lighten up soon. As always, thanks for reading and Enjoy;D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words and OC's.**

Chapter 17: Elementary, My Dear Howlett!

I can't sleep. This seems to be the recurring trend with me, I know, but it's not from my own lack of trying,_ believe me._ I've tried my usual method of counting, I've tried lying on my side, my back, my stomach, and even curling up against the Mutant sleeping next to me, who seems to just _radiate_ heat as well as that wonderfully smoky/cinnamon-y scent that smells so _god damned _good…

*Ahem*

So, I can't sleep. No matter_ what _I do. Officially confirming my fears: _Erik doesn't have me on life support after all. _

How do I know this?

Because the second I try to go to sleep, my chest begins to feel heavy, compressed, _strangled_; like I'm slowly submerging myself underwater and I know that, if I allow myself to sink (fall asleep), I will drown. I've been trying for hours, just letting this feeling of compression and imminent demise weigh down on me, hoping and hoping that it will just subside, until, finally, I can't take it anymore and I have to get up.

I sit up, massaging my face back into circulation, then turn to Azazel, still asleep, and consider waking him up so we can just leave already. But he just looks so peaceful! He hasn't slept in nearly two days after all and he just looks so snug! Just because _I_ can't sleep doesn't mean _he_ shouldn't either. So, I leave the room as quietly as I can manage, stretching my aching bones out before trudging out to the living room, where I throw myself on the couch, still half-dressed, and process what all of this means.

Erik wants me back sooner rather than later, that much is certain. He plans to wait me out until I can't take it anymore and I fall right into his hands. But if I leave now—while I've still got a shred of sanity left—I just might be able to slip into my body, wherever it's being hidden, and gather my strength enough to make a full escape. We'll need to start planning, however, if this is going to work.

Okay, so what needs to be done?

Well, first, we need to get to Genosha. Easier said than done. We can sneak on board one of the ships and hitch a ride there. We won't be registered on their rosters and no one will suspect stowaways aboard a ship of Mutant refugees. And even if they did, they'd never find us. Even _Magneto _can't see the invisible.

The real trick will be finding my body. But again, if I can get close enough to phase myself inside my body, I'll be able to find an exactly location. From there, I can just communicate with Azazel—wherever he will be—to come get me. Or to meet me somewhere. But how will we get back?

Maybe Emma could pick us up?

*Gasp!* In that case, she can drop us off, too!

No, no, wait. That means we'll have no way to get to the shore, seeing as we won't be able to get close to the Island without being detected. And I'm not about to swim to Genosha.

_Shit!_ So the ship would be our only way on the Island then. Getting off of it and then getting back to the jet once we've got what we came for will require some very detailed teamwork with Emma, Azazel, and I. Until then, I just need to last long enough to do my part.

Three days without sleep…

I've heard people can go insane from sleep deprivation. I'm certainly feeling more than a little crazy right now. My head bears the weight of an overweight bowling ball and I'm struggling to keep my eyes open as an overwhelming urge to just black out ebbs its way into my very core. I'm just…so…tired…

I sit up at last, drawing my legs into a crisscross and hold my head up, taking a few deep breaths while I focus my mind and still my wandering thoughts. And then, I begin to levitate, slowly descending down into the Danger Room that Rogue once took me to way back last Christmas. My bare feet touch to cold ground and I glance around blearily as the lights flicker on (probably motion censored), blinding me with a bright, false light. Adjusting to the brightness, I find a couple of dummies have still been left in their places from the last training session and figure I'll do a little warm up before we head out on our mission.

I find a mat and do some basic stretches, finding it very relaxing, before I start practicing some basic fighting techniques on the dummies. Exhaustion begins to morph into frustration for some reason as everything that's been pissing me off, freaking me out, and _haunting_ me as of late starts to pile up on top of me with each punch I throw, every kick I snap, and every elbow I land.

I hit one dummy so hard that it comes right back at me with equal force and hits _me _back, sending me to the floor hard enough to tick me off _far_ more than it should. I'm about to let loose a rage so passionate you would think the dummy had Kelly's face on it, when I realize someone else has just joined the party.

"It's one in the morning," Logan comments as he approaches me, his voice soft and raspy; his eyes tired and alert at the same time, like he's been up for a while. I give a faint groan, ready to just burst into tears with frustration. But, instead, I just let myself fall back on the cold ground and rest, still trying to catch my breath from the intense work out. What the hell is he doing up at this time of night?

He gestures to the exit, "Do you wanna—?"

"I can't." I interrupt, glancing away, my own voice sounding gravelly in my throat from lack of use and just general exhaustion. Does he seriously think I'd share a bed with him right now? Although, to be fair I haven't exactly been acting _opposed_ to the idea lately. (_Way to complicate things, Liz!) __Please just leave,_ I think to myself desperately as he approaches. I'm getting antsy and I just don't want to _do this_ right now. He appears at my side anyway, sitting down beside me as my annoyance grows.

_I don't want to talk to you,_ my demeanor says. But Instead, I settle for a tense, "Thank you."

"I don't mind." He offers again, moving to lie back but I sit up rapidly, climbing to my feet and start at the dummy once more, saying firmly as I dance in circles around the fleshy doll, "_I _do."

My fist is about to make bone-shattering contact with the rubber dummy but, at the last second, I turn my entire limb intangible just before I end up hitting Logan instead. I didn't realize how fast he could move until now. _Man,_ size, strength, regeneration, superhuman senses, metal freakin' claws, _and _speed? The guy's got everything, lucky bastard!

"I'm sorry," He blurts randomly, making me look up in surprise while I withdraw my arm. "For before." He explains at my look. "I wasn't thinking." When I continue to look at him funny, still breathing heavily and sweating in spite of the cold—not quite sure what he's talking about—he adds, "I shouldn't've kissed you."

_Oh..._

"What with everything that's been goin' on…I, ah," His hand goes to the back of his neck. "I just shouldn't have done it."

_Well, technically I didn't object…Actually, I'm pretty sure __**I **__was the one who kissed __**you.**_

"Not after what happened to you."

_Wait—_

_What?!_

"Should've known better—"

"Wait, wait!" I exclaim, shaking my head while I back away. "What do you mean, "after what happened to me?"" I murdered someone and now it's not okay to kiss me? I mean, it still wasn't okay but not for the reasons he _thinks_. But that _still _doesn't explain what the hell he's talking about. Maybe it was what happened _before_ the murder that he's fussing about? But I never told him—

Oh, right. I never_ did _tell him what actually happened. No time to, no _reason_ to.

As if confirming my suspicions, Logan's jaw clinches and he appears to struggle for a moment with what to say, his hands at his hips and his head down. Lucky for him, I catch on quickly, and give a soft groan, so damned frustrated that I have to explain this all over again.

I quickly—_**briefly**_—explain what _actually_ happened, sparing the details as much as possible and giving only need-to-know information. "It was a close call," I concede grimly, taking a swipe at one of the dummies with a grunt. "But I'm _fine _now. I just didn't know how to tell you all." I pause, stilling the dummy with my hand. I look at him, my brow furrowing with genuine regret, "I'm sorry—for making you think that."

Finally, that's out of the way! I swear on my _life_, that is the _last_ time I'm going to have to tell that story.

"Doesn't make it any better." Logan grumbles, still seething from what I've told him, as if he can do anything about it. "It still _could've_—"

"Please," I say quickly, not wanting to be reminded of the thing my dreams have been taunting me about once more. I'm growing more and more irritated by the second and all I want to do is like Azazel said: Move on! It's what I've been_ trying_ to do ever since I first woke up! Why can't he or Emma or Rogue see that? "It's in the past."

I turn to one of the dummies, positioning myself between two of them and practice sparing with two enemies at once. "Let's leave it there."

I have _got_ to get this out of my system. And I'm just getting started.

"Speakin' of the past," Logan says somewhat abruptly, giving me pause. My punches become softer at his tone, recognizing a chilly, dangerous air to them. "I've been thinking," He continues, "About what you said—about me being like Magneto." I stop what I'm doing to look at him. I almost forgot about that. That was so long ago!

My god, what is it with this guy and being stuck in the past? Just let it _go _already!

"You weren't talking about Magneto…" He goes on to say dismally. "Were you?"

I stare at him, eyes widening in a brief moment of panic. I press a hand to my head in anguish. _Please, don't do this now._ _I can't __**take**__ this right now!_ "Logan—"

"Figured." He interrupts before I can tell him to _leave it alone,_ and he crosses his arms in front of his chest, then delivers a bomb I wasn't prepared for, "You meant _Sabretooth,_ didn't you?"

I inhale sharply, shaking my head numbly while I try to think of the words to explain this away, "Alright, listen—"

"You know," He interrupts again, sounding half-mad himself. "I went back to that Island after you…you know."

_Died? _

_Kinda hard to forget. Your point is…?_

"I knew that place from _somewhere_ but my memory was shot to all hell," Logan continues, sounding very much like a clever, little detective, piecing it all together. Which makes me the interrogatee. Which I _really_ don't like. "I went looking for answers." Logan tells me while I glower at him, daring him silently to keep going, "Found an enemy instead. Until that day, I never even _met_ the guy, _'s far as I know._"

Logan begins pacing, circling around me, like _that's_ supposed to make me nervous. This feels like a fucking joke. A really _bad_ joke that he has no business telling. And I'm just waiting for the punch line. "All I knew was that he had the name of the guy that had you bleedin' out in the snow that day." He growls pointedly, making my stomach squirm in discomfort. _Damn you...Damn you for doing this to me right now. _"Turns out, he already_ knew_ who I was. And he kept mentioning _you_. Said something about you asking about_ me_. Wanting to know who** I** was before I even _knew _you."

His voice turns angry and he stops pacing, his back turned to me. "But then the fucker just attacked me! Wouldn't tell me anything else. " Logan suddenly turns to me and advances on me, a malicious glint in his eye. I just continue to glare at him spitefully, just waiting. Waiting for it. "And _then_—" He shakes his finger, stopping a few feet away from me. "See, here's the funny thing—after _years_ of attacking me out of the blue, the guy just stops after we found you in Sinisters' Lab. Haven't seen him since." He pauses, as if to let these words sink in; as if I even care at this point past the wrath building inside of me.

He takes a breather, the gears still working in that special little brain of his. "We're connected somehow, the three of us." Logan states, finally meeting my eye like I'm a _person_, rather than the snake he's been treating me like thus far. "I wanna know how."

"I knew him." I state evenly, my mouth twisted in anger. I clench my fists, wanting very badly to sink it into his jaw. "Briefly. When Stryker had us on that Island. We—escaped together," I continue with a sigh, finding it more and more difficult to continue for some reason as we get closer to the truth. "And cross paths every now and again. That's all." The words come out so shakily even_** I**_ know it's a blatant lie.

And so does Logan.

"I helped him escape from Sinister's Labs as well." I add with more conviction, clearing my throat in a vain attempt to make it seem like I was just hoarse. "And in return, he agreed not to hurt you anymore. You _or the_ kids."

_Now just—leave it alone. Leave it alone. Leave it—_

"Figured that's what happened." He quips, but wait—there's more! He must have put some serious thought into this. In fact, I'd say it's been bothering him for a long time now. And, naturally, he just _had _to piece it all together at this very moment.

Lovely.

"Just seems strange to me." Logan prattles on while I contemplate just leaving. But something is making me stay. I'd hoped to keep this secret a while longer—forever if I could—but it looks like that's not possible anymore. Not with Logan. "The guy hated you like you wouldn't believe. Almost _killed you_ several times, if I'm not mistaken. And suddenly he's doing you favors."

I know it's futile but I still feel I have to try, "People chang—"

"Were you involved?" Is the abrupt question that cuts off my half-assed explanation.

_**Oh, now,**__ you're getting to the point?_

Feeling there's no need to lie at this point, I clench my fists, take a breath, and say calmly at last, "…At the time, no."

Finally breaking his tough guy act, he breaks, shouting irately, "The hell does_ that_ mean?!"

_Oooh, __**someone's**__ angry!_

I don't answer, pissed beyond belief, and, instead, give him a sullen, narrow-eyed glare that reads, _What do you__** think**__ it means?_

His face contorts with anger and he hits one of the dummies so hard it breaks off its hinges and crashes to the floor, "Fuck!"

"Oh, fuck _yourself!" _I shout back. He doesn't even know the guy's his brother! Why is he so ticked?! _We _were pretty much a fling, too. I know he doesn't _really_ care about me; not like _that_ anyway. So what's the deal? _What is his damage?!_ "Like what we had was any different!" I snap, my voice cutting like a knife through the, otherwise, silent Danger Room.

"Different?!" He practically screams. "Look at what he's done! Look at what he _is_!"

"I have." Is my surprisingly calm reply, thinking of all the other mean things I could say to _really_ hurt his ego (mostly pertaining to size, length/width, and performance) but I settle for, "I'm looking at it right now."

His look is nothing short of livid.

At first, I think he might try to attack me (_and oh, how I wish he would try!_). But he's far too passive-aggressive to do that. Instead, he shakes his head, laughing ruefully, "I really am a fuckin' idiot, aren't I? You have any idea what that guy could _do_ to you?" He shouts, as if I'm his teenage_ daughter_, not the very same woman who slept with _him _not so very long ago. I guess it's not so great when it's not you. Go figure. "I know _my_ memory's shit but _you_? Did you forget how he almost _killed_ you?!"

"Not that it matters, but _you don't tell me what to do, Logan!"_I scream right back, marching up to him to glare right into his face. He's just a little taller than me, but I feel above him somehow. He has no right to do this to me. He didn't when he tried to tell how to handle Magneto and he sure as hell doesn't now. "It was a one-time thing and it'll never happen again, not that it matters anyway." My voice hits a new pitch of furiousness. "None of this is _any_ of your business!"

His chest meets mine, his face red with anger, "It_ was _when you were bleeding out in the snow."

I push away from him with a disgusted, _"Ugh!"_ _I __**knew**__ you'd go there! _

"It was when that fucker hurt Tabitha," He continues, chasing after me, and catches my arm, "_Your _little girl! It was when—"

**I've had enough.**

My hand flies across his face with a sound like thunder. Furious beyond belief, I stare at him for a moment, my mouth pressed into a thin line, while I struggle to catch my breath. Finally, I manage to hiss out, "_Enough!" _He continues to stare back at me, far too shocked to do anything else, I suppose, while I let him have it, saying, "I don't have to explain myself to you. Or anyone else for that matter. I'm _done_ explaining and I'm done with you people acting like I_ owe _you something!"

I take a step back, a pang in my chest as well as my upper abdomen. My hand goes to my sweet spot absently, missing my scar for some reason, and my voice is little more than a distraught murmur as I say, "I didn't realize friendship came at a cost."

You want to play the pity card? The blame card? The guilt card? I'll do the same. See how _you_ like it.

"I'll be out of your hair soon enough." I say while he mulls that one over in that smart-ass, deductive, _defective_ brain of his. "You can go ahead and tell everyone if you want. It's not like I care anymore." I turn to him one last time, bracing myself for lift off, but before I go, I've got one more thing to say, "Everyone has secrets, Logan. I'm sure you'll understand if I wasn't ready to give all of mine away so easily…"

I rise back through the ceiling, leaving the fool with his thoughts, and begin my heated trek back to my room, wishing I _had_ made that quip about his_—_

" 'Well…' " I hear Emma's voice in my head, tired but clear in my mind, interrupting my malicious thoughts, " '_That _was intense.' " Fucking spy. " 'Frankly, my dear, you are far too much drama to be real. You should have your own TV show.' "

" 'Where do I meet you?' " Is my short-spoken reply. " 'Or are we just going to leave?' " My ass hurts from where I fell and I think I bit my cheek; the injured one from two nights ago where I was struck by_—_not only by Iron Helm, but Rogue and Azazel as well. Because I can't fucking _heal_ if I can't phase back into my body, let alone get some sleep.

" 'I'll see you off at the hangar.' " Emma replies just as shortly, not liking my attitude, but I couldn't care less at the moment. Call me a bitch, I don't care. _I'm done_. And I want my property back right the fuck now, before anyone else tries to claim it from me. " 'I'm not so rude as to send you off in the dark.' "

" 'Was that some kind of dig at me?' " I growl inwardly, tensing up at the thought.

" 'Perhaps.' "

" 'Well, congratulations,' " I reply back, taking a sharp turn at the hallway leading back to my room. " 'You literally know everything of any worth to me right now. You have all my dirty secrets, now. I hope you're happy.' "

I shut her out after that, just done with life at the moment and angry at everything and nothing at all. I know I'm being seriously bitchy right now but I just can't take it anymore. The sleepless nights, the paranoia, the constant threats, the even more persistent budding in of my so-called friends…I just want to be left alone, but I can't fucking do that right now. Not until I have my body back and my freedom.

Maybe Bayville isn't the right place for me after all.

I get back to my room and give Azazel a rough shake, no longer concerned about his beauty sleep. He jolts awake, suddenly alert. "It's time to go." I snap, crossing to the lamp in the corner of the room and yanking it on. He groans, probably still exhausted, while I continue to gather my things. I sling my broadswords across my chest like before, then sling my leather jacket over it, making sure the hilts protrude slightly at the nape of my neck. He sits up on the edge of the bed, groaning and I shake my head impatiently.

"C'mon," I say, tossing a pillow at him. He glares at me while I cross the room to continue packing my gear. "You can sleep on the ship."

He stands and starts to get dressed, asking cautiously, "We are taking ship?"

"Can't take the jet." I snap. "It's too obvious. And we both know _you_ can't make the trip."

"Did you sleep?" He asks, the sharp tone of his voice catching my attention. His eyes narrow, his voice and rigid posture betraying his anger, "You seem tired."

I sigh, realizing I'm taking my anger out on the wrong person here. I place my hands on the table by the window, pressing my lips together in thought before I finally muster to will to try and explain myself, "He doesn't have me on life support." I admit solemnly, not meeting his eye. "I won't be getting much sleep until I find my body." I collapse on the bed with a hand pressed firmly against my forehead, "I don't know if I can do this." I mumble.

I don't know what hurts the most: the fact that he doesn't question me about my tyrannical behavior or the sympathy in his voice as he says, "You will not be doing this alone. I will help any way I can."

I nod, a hand at my mouth. I'm still bleeding from where I bit my cheek. I meet his wary eye once more, "Sorry," I mouth, feeling incredibly bad about waking him up so rudely. I've just been so stressed—! No, that's no excuse. I need to get my shit together if we're going to do this.

He nods his head, very, very slightly, and I nod back, blinking back tears. I stand up quickly, embarrassed with myself, and continue to get ready, "Emma's in the hangar." I say shortly, reaching up a hand to tuck a small razor that I found in the bathroom one day (I'm not even going to ask) in my bra. Looks like I'm ready. This outfit isn't at all like my old one (making me look more like some motorcycle-riding vigilante rather than the saboteur I've become) and I feel rather barren without my mask, but there's nothing to be done. Maybe I can find some of my old gear back on Genosha.

I turn to Azazel, still wary of me, and say, "Let's not keep her waiting."

* * *

**_More to come soon! Thanks for reading. Coming soon..._**

**_~THESCRIBE!;D_**


	18. Chapter 18 Woman to Woman

_Time to slow it down a bit. But first, some gal-talk! I want to challenge the misconception that all women talk about is boys and hair and clothes. We talk about other issues too like the possibilities of war, past traumas, the future, and etcetera and etcetera. Not just guys and relationships!_

_Okay, rant officially out of the way, here is Chapter 18!__** Thanks for reading and Enjoy;D**_

Chapter 18: Woman to Woman

"What's this?" I ask tensely, my mouth twisted in an enraged frown. Six syringes filled with a clear liquid glint up at me from the tiny, black case Emma handed me upon our arrival to the hangar deck, and I can't help but imagine myself plunging every last one of them into her slender neck. I never used to fear needles. Never used to hate them like I do now. But recent (and not so recent) events have taught me that syringes are not to be trusted. Even Azazel studies them uncertainly, his tail flicking anxiously behind him.

The telepath, however, remains unfazed, regarding me coolly as she states firmly, "Adrenaline."

She doesn't even give me the chance to inquire about them, saying shortly, stiffly, "Who knows when the next time you'll get sleep is. This will give you energy boosts when you need them and _only_ when you need them." She eyes me sternly, like I'm a little kid about to play with matches, "Understand?"

I close the lid with a snap and try to push the case back into her hands, "I'll be fine. Thanks."

"This isn't up for discussion." Emma turns on her heel and starts toward the jet, looming nearby like a giant, mechanical bird of prey. Fuming, I start after her threateningly but before I can get far, the case is suddenly snatched out of my hand by a spaded tail and slung from my reach. I halt, whipping around to try and snatch them right back but Azazel moves his tail far past my reach and takes hold of my wrist, saying firmly, "She is right. We waste time here."

I huff, so mad I could just scream, but instead, I heave a consenting sigh, eyeing him with a look that says 'stick me and you'll regret it' then follow Emma to the jet. She's already gone inside.

"I thought we were taking a ship." I say, approaching the pilot's chair, where Emma sits, flipping switches that make the jet come alive.

She sits back, pressing the tips of her fingers into the corners of her eyes wearily, then replies, "You are. I will fly you close to the docks. The next ship doesn't leave for another hour or so, but seeing as we're all awake, I thought it'd be best for us to strategize on the way over." She tosses a look at Azazel, who has already taken a seat and appears to be 'resting his eyes' with the syringe box still in hand, and adds, "And perhaps get some rest."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat while I chew on my next words, "Emma…about earlier—" I take a seat in the co-pilot's chair. "I didn't mean to blow up at you. I was pissed off at Logan and the thought that yet another of my secrets—one that I'd sincerely been hoping to take to my grave—had been brought to light…—I lost it. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

Emma scoffs as the hanger opens up and the jet begins to rise into the air, "Elizabeth, I deal with hormonal teenagers all the time. I'm used to being in the line of fire."

"But _I'm_ not a teenager." I object, feeling even shittier at the comparison. The jet gives a shudder and Azazel wakes up with a start. Needing some privacy, I say telepathically, " 'I shouldn't be acting like one.' "

" 'If you want my expert opinion,' " Emma replies, her hands on the wheel and eyes set dead ahead. The sky is black, making it a little difficult to see. Emma turns on the jet's highbeams (which I didn't even know it had) and we start forward as the hangar closes once more. " 'You're far more mature than most people your age. You are only 21 years old, correct?' " I nod. "There you go!" Emma says aloud.

I look back quickly but Azazel appears to be asleep once more. "If you ask me," She continues, at ease. "You're handling things far better than you should be. Considering…"

"I don't want to make excuses for myself, Emma." I say right off. I hate doing that. Like I'm trying to justify my actions rather than take responsibility for them. "What's done is done and it's about time I get over it."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Emma asks, surprising me. "I mean, between your body being missing and the Bastard coming after you."

"I don't know." I murmur gravely, my hands digging into the arm rests as the jet veers left, right over the MRD HQ. "But I'll be damned if I don't figure it out."

A silence passes, during which we simply stare out the window, watching the snow rush past the window like we're travelling at light speed, and, I find myself thinking about those syringes again. Could I really inject myself should the need arise? I haven't let a needle come anywhere _near_ me after Vanhouven and Sinister's Labs. They serve as painful reminders, foreboding and ominous.

What would have happened? What could have happened?

I've always wondered that. Not so much about Vanhouven anymore though. I _know_ what would have happened if Grigori had gotten than needle in me. The thought of Azazel walking in on…_that_ is enough to make me sick. Although, what might have happened after _that _remains a mystery even to me. Would Azazel have been able to kill him? Probably. Unless Grigori had used me as leverage (seeing as he was still armed at the time).

No, I really have no idea what would have happened then.

Even so, it's not _that_ that I am thinking about now. No, I'm wondering about way back; back when I was a prisoner on Striker's Island, the day Sinister—then Nathaniel Essex—attempted to sedate me just before Sabretooth and I escaped. Would I have been experimented on? Tortured? Put on display? Would I have become nothing but a soldier like Domino or Wolfsbane, or would I have simply died from the poisonings and experiments like others who'd been imprisoned? Like Tarina might have?

I just don't know.

Why am I thinking about this now?

Maybe it's because I don't know what's being done to me right now. Or what already has been done. There's no way Essex had me on ice for nearly two decades and didn't take advantage of the fact. He must have done_ something_. I keep thinking back to the way he disarmed me the first time I attacked him. How he was able to cancel out my attack just by touching me. Much like an inhibitor collar.

Could they be connected somehow?

"Just to let the record show," Emma says, interrupting my thoughts, she turns to me in her seat, having switched to auto pilot, and holds her hands in her lap. Her eyes and voice take a severe tone, "I wasn't purposely listening in on your conversation. I could sense both of your emotions and wanted to see if you were all right. And if you'd _bothered_ to listen to me just a bit longer, you would know that I happen to think Logan was out of line on this one."

I believe her. Which makes me feel even worse.

I shake my head in disbelief and decide it's about time I confide in her fully. Maybe she can answer a very troubling question for me, "Where did that even _come from,_ Emma?" I ask, still pretty stunned that Logan had even been able to put all of that together and even more shocked that he'd attacked me that way. It really had come right the fuck out of nowhere!

"Logan," Emma says hesitantly, trying to choose her words carefully, "Has been acting strangely as of late."

This, I find _very_ interesting. I lean forward in my seat, "How do you mean?"

Opening up to me for once, Emma says in a low voice, "I'm not entirely sure why, but he seems to be suspicious of me." She casts a glance at Azazel, but the man fell asleep about ten minutes ago. Lucky bastard.

"Suspicious?" I repeat.

"Yes," She chews on her lip, then says, "I can sense it. Ever since he came back. I think he has come to believe that I've been poisoning the Professor's mind in order to remain Head Mistress." She says in a rush, blurting it out so quickly I almost don't believe she even said it.

"Please tell me that's a bad joke." It's just so absurd! Emma, poisoning Xavier's mind? What the fuck, Logan?!

She shakes her head, "I wish it were. I haven't been sleeping well as of late. And what with everything that's been going on, I haven't had the time to speak with him about it."

"I didn't know you were having trouble sleeping." I say, curiosity piqued. "Looks like we have that in common."

"Logan hasn't been sleeping either." Emma confesses, all of a sudden appearing to be very exhausted. "None of us have really."

"What do you mean 'none of you?'" I recall how tired Jean looked when I saw her, the bags under Hank's eyes, the stoop in his shoulders, Logan's general crankiness and sudden suspicion of Emma. "Emma, what the hell is going on here?"

Her voice cracks like a whip, "If I _knew _it wouldn't be a problem."

I lean forward even more, determined to get my point across, "It _has _to be an outside attack, Emma. There's no way this is all just coincidence."

"Until I have evidence proving your theory, there is nothing I can do." Is Emma's decisive reply. "I keep getting reports of students falling asleep in class, starting fights with classmates and even teachers, failing their classes…" Deep creases line her brow, "It's becoming very difficult to keep up. I believe it is simply a product of the times." She reasons with herself, "The ongoing threat of Kelly, the MRD, the press…the possibility of war. God, could you imagine? Our students, _soldiers!_"

While I don't think this is the direct cause of all the antics with the Institute, it is a relief to finally hear someone other than Magneto and his crew admit that war may be underway. I don't say this however. I find her passionate mention of students to be more cause for inquisition, "They said you had your own school," I say carefully, "A long time ago." Emma's eye meets my own sharply, pain flitting across her crystal blues. "What happened to it?"

She looks away, "Life." She explains shortly. She takes a tremulous breath, struggling for a moment, "My students…they couldn't…" She shakes her head in dismay, unable to continue on. "And now…I don't know if I can_ help_ them, Elizabeth." Emma looks up at me once more, looking, for the first time, scared. Terrified even! "I couldn't help my _own_ students. These are Xavier's_ children!_"

"Where is _this_ coming from?" I ask in disbelief. Emma is my rock, the no-nonesense asskicker. To see her like this is frightening, just as it had been to see Azazel so anxious on that first night in Vanhouven. It's not like her at all. "Emma, you're a_ fantastic_ teacher! I know you and I never got to work with one another as much as we wanted, but I learned more from you than _anyone._" I reach out and take her hand. "Everything I know now started with you. You have a chance to help these kids. And I think you'd do a better job of it than Xavier."

I can tell she wants to change the subject, probably uncomfortable with being on the sharing end of the spectrum, because she quickly redirects the conversation to something else entirely, "Don't say that in front of Logan!" Emma warns playfully, the coolness returning to her face once more to my dismay. We were really getting somewhere with that! But I'll give it some time. I'd hate for her to feel_ pressured_ or anything..."He still thinks I'm out to _seize_ the institute!"

"Someone needs to talk some sense into that boy." I mutter, remembering him saying something similar about Rogue, the big hypocrite.

Emma gives a smirk as she turns back to the controls. We've arrived at the docks. Now we need only lie in wait until the next ship begins loading it's cargo (aka Mutants) so that we can sneak on. "Oh, I'd say you did a fair job of that already!" She exclaims, positioning the jet just far enough away so as not to be seen, and dims the lights so that only a few emergency ones are on. "You were my hero down there!"

I give an uneasy groan as she turns back to me and say, "I still should have told him the truth about Vanhouven when I had the chance." I say, guilt ebbing at my abdomen. "I was just so afraid of what you all would think of me…" I shake my head. It's in the past. I'm more worried about what'll happen next. "I should tell him about Sabretooth. He deserves to know."

"Know what?" Emma questions, yawning heavily behind a gloved hand, "I thought he already figured it out for himself."

I open my mouth but words don't come out at first. I have to consciously _will_ them out just to admit, "There's one, small detail I forgot to mention." Emma raises her eye brows expectantly. I take a deep breath, "They're brothers."

Emma blinks. She blinks again. Opens her mouth. Closes it. Frowns, "But—they…I_ worked_ with the man once or twice and he never…" I nod my head over and over while she tries to piece it together, "But he and Logan have _fought_ so many times in the past! Why did he never say anything?"

I shake my head, stifling a yawn myself, "Some part of him really _does _love his brother. I know that much. I remember asking him about Logan a few times and every time he became very sensitive, very angry. Almost bit my head off once while we were in Sinister's Labs." I add, remembering his quip about me being 'fascinated' with him even though I was "screwing" his brother. Jealousy? But then, he made the same quip a while _before_ Sinister's Labs as well when Kelly had us all locked up together. Hmmm.

Not wanting to think about _that_ too much, I quickly go on to say, "Maybe he just likes to keep him guessing. He thinks Logan secretly knows they're related."

Emma nods, asking, "And what do _you_ think?"

"I think on _some level_ he does." I admit, thinking back to Logan's deduction that the three of us are all connected somehow. "But he isn't willing to admit it yet."

"He does know that there is a definite connection." Emma agrees before giving me a pointed look, "Perhaps he just needs to be pointed in the right direction?"

I've thought about it. But still, "How can I _do _that?" I ask, really wishing it wouldn't have to come down to that. "It's bad enough that I—" I glance back at Azazel for the umpteenth time. He appears to be asleep still but I just don't know. Can't take any chances, " 'That I slept with his arch nemesis but the fact that it's his _brother,_ too?! He'd _kill_ me!' "

" 'I truly believe that he needs to hear it from _you._' " I frown in response, feeling that that isn't even _my_ responsibility, and Emma shrugs, saying aloud, "Whatever you decide. And Elizabeth," I raise my eye brows, surprised by the soft tone her voice has taken. "I _am_ truly sorry."

I tilt my head to the side in confusion, "For what?"

Emma leans back in her seat in the dark, gazing out the window drearily, "I'd like to think I haven't been quite as intrusive as Logan, but the fact of the matter is that I _have_ been. More than once." Her eyebrows knit and her eyes find mine. "And I am sorry for that. I still view you as my pupil. And I feel it is my business to know everything that goes on with you. Mostly because…I still feel responsible for you."

"Emma..." I blink rapidly, completely at a loss for words. After all this time?

"I won't do it again." Emma continues sincerely, some of that previous openness returning. "I promise."

I offer a smile and nod my head in thanks before sighing and reclining back in my seat, only to sit back up again when Emma asks tentatively, "Can I—ask you just _one_ question?"

I look at her and find a small smile tugging at her lips, wanting to break free into a full-on grin. Curious, I ask, "What?"

She smirks knowingly, lowers her voice an octave, and murmurs suggestively, "_How was he?_"

She means Victor. I feel a smirk tug at my own lips until I'm grinning unabashedly and I give a snort of laughter. She laughs too, nudging my arm playfully, and I give a light chuckle, shaking my head as the memory surfaces. Where to begin, where to _begin._

I look at her with a naughty grin, "Girl, let me _tell_ you!"

* * *

**_Oh, the intrigue! Family ties, past feelings being addressed, the prospect of war pondered, dirt being dished...and more to come with the next chapter! Until next time..._**

**_~THESCRIBE!;D_**


	19. Chapter 19 Change in Plans

**Oy, so much to do, so little time. Yes, things have been hectic in the world of Nightshade. Will she finally chill the fuck out and get some sleep? Not likely. Here is the next installment of the New Threat. Enjoy! ;D**

Chapter 19: Change in Plans

I can't breathe.

I'm laughing so hard that it hurts; mostly because I'm really, really trying not to wake up Azazel, who seems to be dead to the world as well as our hushed chatter. Somehow, our conversation has turned into a sleep-over-style game of "Have You Ever...?" and Emma has just indulged me in one of _the_ funniest tales of sexual woe that I have ever heard. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to discuss the details of this escapade (for obvious reasons). Suffice it to say, it was only funny in hindsight but by god is it hilarious! Eventually, our laughter dies down and Emma wipes her eyes, saying thickly, "Not one of my finer moments, I'll have to admit."

"We've all been there." I agree, sighing heavily in my seat. What I'd give for a glass of water right about now! "I _am_ wondering though, how did you_—_" A horn blowing catches both of our attention immediately; the unmistakable trumpet of an incoming ship, jolting Azazel awake and Emma and I out of our conversation.

"Is ship, yes?" Azazel groans, standing up somewhat unsteadily and leaving me to wonder if he had been asleep at all. Emma and I too rise.

"Oh, yeah." I reply numbly, gazing out the window at the vessel with a sense of grim nostalgia. We hadn't even noticed it come up! The thing is huge as I remember. A cargo ship, perfect for smuggling. Passengers have already begun to exit and other Mutants waiting to get on have gathered nearby, shifting nervously in the cold. The MRD has no jurisdiction over these trips but word is: some MRD's have been known to heckle Mutants they see coming in and out of Genosha. Even going as far as to assault some of them. We'll have to move fast to avoid being recognized.

"Let's go." Emma orders sharply and starts out of the Jet in her plush, white winter coat. Azazel follows close by.

I, however, remain rooted to the spot.

Someone's moving me again. I can _feel _it. "Son of a—" My curse is muffled by a wave of nausea invades my body and forces me to double over, clutching my stomach with one hand and my mouth with the other. I'm gonna be sick. _Pull it together, Hawthorne!_ I scold myself, hoisting myself to my feet on shaking legs._ Now is not the time for weakness!_

Sweating and out of breath, I manage to stumble outside to find myself alone. The wind whistles by, taking my hair with it, and I close my eyes, letting the cool air wash over me, only to fall to my knees once more with the next wave of nausea that makes my insides feel like I'm being tossed around in a dryer. Running. It feels like someone is _running_ with my body! _What the fuck is Erik **doing?!**_

Nothing, apparently. Because it isn't Erik who has my body.

It's Dimitri.

I can hardly make him out in the dim light of the lone streetlamp illuminating the docks, but I'd recognize the Sparrow anywhere. She flies towards me like a rocket and, before I can utter a single protest, she lifts me into her arms and takes off to rendezvous with Dimitri and the others. A dim light exposes the area to the rest of the world and as we head towards it, I can't help but feel like we're about to throw ourselves into a bulls-eye for the MRD.

Dimitri collapses in the snow with my body in his arms (once so thin but now with some definite muscle) but refuses to give me up to Azazel or Emma. The Sparrow touches down and I manage to keep on my feet, seeing as my body isn't being moved anymore. "Dimitri!" I cry, wraping my arms around him. "What are you doing here?" I look down at my body in disdain then look back up into his face. A bruise lines his jaw, his eyes are dull and his skin is direly pallid. He's been through some shit.

Still, he manages a smile, "It's good to see you, too." He shifts my body in his tired arms and says, "I thought you might want this back."

I laugh and say, "That was very kind of you. You saved us one hell of a trip." My eyebrows knit, noticing the haunted look in his eyes, "What's happened?"

"I'm afraid that is going to have to wait." Emma interrupts, standing up to stare off in the distance. I follow her gaze and see headlights fast approaching. The other three Mutants who were travelling with the Sparrow and Dimitri make a break for it, taking cover in the darkness, and the Mutants heading to Genosha do the same for the ship. It's got to be the MRD. "Elizabeth, phase back into your body."

I hesitate. I don't want to. I _reeeaallly_ don't want to.

"We will protect you." Emma says sternly, poising a hand at her temple threateningly. "I promise!"

The moment I'm back in my body, I'm blasted with the frigid air. Dimitri has the ability to heat his core body temperature and other things around him, like a Human Furnace. He's been keeping me warm this entire time. So when I phase back into my body, you can imagine the shock. Still, we need to leave.

And quick.

Feeling like I just woke up from one hell of a nap (in spite of still being utterly exhausted), we hightail it back to the jet, with the help of some teleportation, and rise into the air just as the vans arrive and Mardys begin pouring out. I sit back in my seat as the jet takes off and my hand goes to my abdomen. _There you are…_I sigh, banging my head lightly against the headrest of my seat while my fingers press into my scar. Back in my body. I still feel like I haven't slept in two days but that should be rectified soon enough with a good night's (Or hell, _days's_) rest. Once the jet stabilizes, I get up out of my chair and go to Dimitri and the Sparrow.

Dimitri is fine, _shaken_ but fine, but the Sparrow appears to be injured. A burn mars her right arm, searing right through the feathers and tearing through skin. She keeps trying to shake Azazel—who keeps trying to help—off, saying roughly, "I'm alright! Please, don't touch me."

"Sparrow," I say happily, reaching out a hand for her. She lifts her good arm with a faint smirk while Azazel backs off, looking frustrated, and we lock arms. "I wasn't sure when I'd see you again!" I breathe, ecstatic that she's still alright. "I knew _you'd_ never betray me."

The Sparrow sobers up immediately, her feathers ruffling with anger, "When I received word that they were going to apprehend you, I attempted to dissuade the others." She explains eyeing Azazel with a look of general distrust. "But no one was willing to fight against Magneto. They captured me before I had the chance to warn you. But I escaped and went to find your body at your home." She looks to Dimitri, sitting quietly beside her. "That is where I found the boy."

"Dimitri?" I inquire, wanting to know more. _Where is Tabitha?_ I wonder. _Surely he didn't leave without his sister!_

"I didn't even know they were after you at the time." Dimitri admits sullenly, running a hand through his shortened yet messy hair. That characteristic "Peter Pan" smirk he always wears no longer tilts the corner of his mouth, which scares me more than anything. Even in tough situations, he always keeps his spirits up, cracks a joke, lightens things up. Not this time. "I just needed to—" He appears to swallow a lump in his throat, a muscle working in his jaw. "To talk to you."

My breath catches, "About what, Dimitri?" But suddenly, he can't seem to meet my eye. I take his face in my hand and ask urgently, "Dimitri, what's happened? Where is Tabitha?"

"She and others have gone missing," The Sparrow says, speaking on Dimitri's behalf. Her bright green eyes study me carefully but her voice betrays little emotion, "Held prisoner under Genoshan authority. Have you wondered where Colossus went?" I blink, surprised. Haven't seen the guy in months, come to think of it. "I can tell you he never left the Island."

"All those reports," I say numbly, putting it all together. "About people going missing." I had never taken them seriously because I didn't know any of the people who were reported MIA. All except for Colossus, but I kind of figured he just got fed up with Erik and left. I never bothered to follow up on it. "He's imprisoning his own people!" My eye finds Emma's (as she'd quickly looked over her shoulder at the mention of Erik locking Mutants up_ again_) but she quickly looks away. History seems to be repeating itself. Why didn't I suspect this from the beginning? He's done it before!

"The other Mutants who travelled with us did so in complete secrecy," The Sparrow continues before adding bitterly, "Erik does not want to lose his numbers."

"Why Tabitha?" I ask, fighting to keep calm. They weren't after Dimitri or else they would have captured him already. So why Tabitha?

"She—" Dimitri sighs tiredly, able to speak at last, "She was onto him. She kept telling me that something was going on. That Erik was doing something, _hiding _something. She kept asking around, trying to find out more. She went missing shortly before you left on your mission. That's when I tried to find you and found the Sparrow instead. Oh, and Ghost." Dimitri adds and I look up quickly.

_Ghost!_

I'd completely forgotten about my cat! Oh, my god, how long has it been since he's eaten!? "But he wouldn't come," Dimitri adds, rubbing a sore spot on his hand, where thin scratches trace his skin, "He seemed pretty angry."

Fuck. Now I _definitely _need to go back!

"Turn around." I call out, jumping out of my seat to approach Emma in the captain's chair. If they have Tabitha for asking around about missing Mutants, then what does that mean for Tarina and Aaron? And Shay… "We _need_ to turn around!"

"We have what we came for." Emma replies sternly, continuing what she's doing like she hadn't even heard me. The jet shifts, veering to the right, and I have to hold onto the headrest of her seat just to keep standing. Still, I won't give up so easily, saying quickly, urgently, "There's more at stake here than we thought. _Please,_ Emma! Just let me go back! We can stick to the plan and everything!" I offer. We're still here! We can still do this! "I just need to—"

The jet comes to an abrupt halt as Emma throws it in park and she whirls around in her seat, barking, "To _what _exactly?" She waves her hand back in the direction of the ships, "Go and get yourself captured _again _in a futile attempt to rescue your friends?" I glance away, jaw clinched with silent anger. Low blow, Emma. Low blow. "You're too weak and you are severely outnumbered."

"Aren't I always?" I shoot back, determined. "_Please,_ Emma. This _can't_ wait."

"It _can_ and it _will._"

"Emma—!"

"She is right," Azazel interrupts, surprising both of us. We both turn to look at him as he approaches, sounding as calm as ever as he reasons with the Telepath, "This is our only chance. We can still catch the ship."

"And then what?" Emma asks sharply and she crosses her arms. She's bending! I _know_ she is. "She can't use her powers—!"

"Then take my body," I say quickly, eager to get the fuck away from it. "You could take it back to the institute and I'll—"I take an uneven breath and say, "I'll use the adrenaline. I can sleep on the ship for a short while." No, I can't. Unless I _want_ to wake up in the middle of the ocean. Buuut Emma doesn't have to know that. "I just have to know that they're okay."

Emma studies me closely for a moment, drumming her fingers on her knee, then sighs heavily, asking, "And just how do you plan on rescuing your friends?"

Progress!

And, ahhh, good question.

"I don't." I say truthfully, before hurriedly saying, "Not yet anyway. I just want to know where they're being hidden. I—" Again, I hesitate slightly. "I want to talk to Erik." Before Emma can give me an incredulous retort, I quickly say, "Maybe if I agree to return to Genosha, he'll let them go. It's what he wants after all. Then we can work on an escape._ "Together._" I don't like the idea either but it's the best I've got right now. If I could suck it up and work for Erik before (and kind of enjoy it), I can do it again. And besides, I don't exactly feel welcome in Bayville anymore…

"Would you really do that?" Dimitri is asking softly, but his head is down, his hands are folded in his lap.

I nod my head firmly, "Yes. Azazel can report back to you guys if something happens to me." I give the red-clad Mutant a smirk over my shoulder, "Won't you?"

He smirks back, crosses his arms, and says, "Only if you promise not to be ditching me."

I scoff, "Wouldn't dream of it." I turn to Emma pleadingly, "_Please,_ Emma. We can _do_ this! Those people _need_ help. Isn't that what the X-Men are about? Helping people?"

" 'You say you feel responsible for me.' " I add telepathically. " 'For what you and Erik and the Brotherhood did to me and my friends. This could be a second chance for you. To make it right. Isn't that what you want? Closure?' "

Emma glares at me a long moment, I can't tell exactly what's going through her head but she seems to be one push away from turning in our direction. I put out my lower lip in a pout, tilt my head down slightly, and give her the same eyes that my cat gives me whenever he wants a treat. She groans, turning back to the wheel and gives it a jerk that almost knocks me into Azazel.

We start heading back towards the ships.

Success! I'll need to pull out that puppy dog look more often!

I turn to Azazel with a celebratory grin but his look is less-than enthused, " 'You had better have plan.' " He says telepathically, making me smile with his slight butchery of the English language. They don't bother with the use of "a" or "the" in Russian so I can't exactly blame him if he leaves them out every now and again. " 'Erik may never let you go again.' "

" 'I know.' " I reply, sobering up immediately at the thought. " 'But I can't just leave my friends to rot in my place. And that goes for you, too.' " I add grimly, " 'Leave me to Erik. If I need a quick escape,' " I touch my fingers to my lips in a mock whistle. " 'I'll call you.' "

Surprising me, he takes my hand in one of his and holds fast, his words echoing softly in my mind, " 'I do not know that I can leave you.' " He takes a step closer, but some of the humor returns to his eyes as he says, " 'There is still much we must discuss.' "

" 'We'll have plenty enough time for _that_ on the ship.' " I reply smugly, noticing, out of the corner of my eye, the haunted look of doom on Dimitri's young face. " 'For now,' " I say as I let my hand fall out of his hand in order to head towards the forlorn young man a few feet away, " 'Let's just focus on getting there.' "

I stoop down before Dimitri and murmur softly, "We'll find her Dimitri." I place my hand on his shoulder, "We'll bring her home."

"I don't even know where that _is _anymore." Dimitri sniffs, dragging a hand across his mouth in that way men do when they're trying not to cry. He blinks away would be tears and refuses to meet my eye.

I sigh, realizing he's right. His home, his life, his sister…all gone. All because of—

" 'This is not your fault.' " I hear from who else but Azazel?

I shake my head, rising with a faint, " 'Isn't it? I should have _known _better.' " My fists clench at my sides with anger and shame. " 'All this time I thought I was hot on Erik's trail but it turns out I was playing right into his hands. _Again._' " Mystique was right. I really _don't_ learn, do I?

I look out the window just as the jet comes to a stop and Emma turns in her seat, saying firmly, "We've found them. Are you ready?"

"Almost," I sit down on the floor of the jet and begin my usual practice of projection, first meditating, clearing my thoughts, then concentrating hard on detachment, weightlessness, detachment, weightlessness, detachment, detachment... "L-let's go." I breathe as I shakily get up, sweating somehow in spite of the cold. "Before someone sees us." But before Azazel and I can teleport on board, Emma takes hold of my wrist and pushes the forgotten syringes into my hands, "Use the syringes." She says firmly, before adding desperately, "_Please._ They may save your life."

I inhale deeply but hang onto the box just a little tighter. I nod slightly, "I will. Promise."

* * *

The needle hovers above my skin for a haunting moment, gleaming in the dim light of the cargo hold, and I can see it trembling in my shaking fist. My lips are pressed tightly together, my stomach in knots only made worse by the moisture of the ships' underbelly, and I can feel a thick sweat lining my forehead, upper lip, and sprouting between my shoulder blades. Trembling and finding it hard to breathe, I glance over at Azazel, his eyes closed and his head tilted back; probably asleep. Just like the others. The other refugees on their way to Genosha, that is. Even the most paranoid of the group (a father of two) has long ago fallen asleep.

But not me.

I can't. I may have been jolted out of my death-induced comma thanks to the efforts of one Nathaniel "Sinister" Essex but I still can't fall asleep without proper life support and a sturdy foundation upon which to wake up. I could wake up in the middle of the ocean if I fell asleep now. Not to mention the threat of the rough-handling, non-sympathizing Human crewmen in charge of smuggling this group onto Genoshan territories. They aren't exactly the most reputable bunch. And besides, even if I do fall asleep, I still can't control exactly when I'll wake up and there won't be anyone there to jolt me awake either.

And those aren't the only reasons.

I keep...seeing things.

It _has_ to be exhaustion. I mean, what else could explain the dark figure that darts in and out of my line of vision, whispering things I can't quite hear? Sometimes, the figure is merely a shadow, a swift blur of movement, and, always, a whisper. Other times, it will be standing just in my line of vision. I'll turn and look at it quickly, trying to assess whether it's real or not, but before I even get a good look at it, the damn thing vanishes. I have to stare really, really hard just to make sure I don't blink. And what's even more alarming, the last time I saw the spectre, it whispered something just loud enough for me to hear.

It was telling me to go to sleep.

Which is exactly why I need to give myself this fucking injection!

I bring the needle to my neck once more, and once more it stays there, hovering just a millimeter off of my flesh. Some of the adrenaline drips from the needle point onto my skin and part of me hopes that this will suffice. Maybe I can just dump the shit on me and soak it through my skin? *sigh* Not likely. I turn to Azazel, preparing to wake him so I can ask him to inject me himself (in spite of my earlier warning), but I am pulled up short by a horrifying sight. Azazel continues to sleep peacefully, resting back against the wall of the ship beside me, and there, leaning against him, with its arm draped over his shoulder, is the specter.

For a moment, I just stare at it, paralyzed with a dangerous combination fear and rage. It _has_ to be real. And It's got its hands on my man-friend!

I fly to my feet, syringe still in hand, and will my eyes to glow threateningly. The figure, rather than disappearing like before, lifts a shadowy finger, a trail of what looks like charcoal lingering in the air like some kind of special effect, to what would be its mouth and hushes me, the sound echoing around us like it's been carried on the wind itself. " 'What do you want with him?' " I ask, speaking telepathically through complete accident.

In fact, I can't seem to speak aloud at all!

" 'And what have you done to me?' " This is no coincidence. This is no feat of my imagination. And this is no friend of mine.

" 'Now _that_ I can answer!' " The figure replies in a distinctly feminine voice, taking on a more distinctive shape with wide hips, high breasts, and a slender waist. Her face, however, I cannot see. Her person is entirely black and continues to mirror that of a shadow that sprinkles coal dust in slow motion. Her hand trails down Azazel's collar and I can hear the smile in her voice as she replies aloud, "I thought you and I should have some alone time." At my uncertain look, she adds offhandedly, "No one else can see or hear me unless I want them to and I'm sure you wouldn't want to_—_" She inhales deeply, murmuring softly while her finger traces Azazel's jaw, "Wake anyone up with crazy ramblings about dark spectres and such."

I watch her tensely, hating her every move, wishing I could get her the fuck away from him, but she and I both know I can't. And she's using it to her advantage. "No," She sighs with the slight turn of her head, the only indication that she's looking at me, and says firmly, "I just want to talk."

My mood darkens along with my voice, " 'Then talk.' "

The light air to the spectre changes from humorous to sinister in a heart beat, her voice mirroring this, "You ought to speak to me more nicely." She murmurs, her fingers digging into Azazel's front. "After all, I _have_ been sent to follow you..."

" 'Follow me?' " I whisper, my mind already going to the Bastard, but, as far as I know, the boy's never even worked with Mutants before. A thought occurs to me, " 'Magneto.' "

The spectre gives a curt nod, "The same." The humor seems to return to her, and, to my relief, she rises and crosses over to me, saying, "Unfortunately for him, I like you and I _don't_ like what he's trying to do to you." This throws me for a severe loop.

" 'You_—_What?!" I exclaim._ She likes me? Why? She's never even met me before!_

"Let me explain," The spectre says quickly, then starts leading me away from the other passengers. I follow her, eager to get her away from Azazel. "I can enter people's minds through their emotions," She continues as she leads me above deck. "Happiness, sadness, fear and nostalgia are my specialty. And when are our emotions more rigorous than in the deepest realms of the unconscious?"

" 'You target people in their sleep.' " I deduce, finding we've made it above deck much sooner than expected. It's still dark outside, but no one, no crew members or watchmen or anything are here. Peculiar. They said very specifically to say below deck. And there have been rumors of sailors attacking Mutants who wander from the hold. The spectre however, remains unfazed, doing little to conceal herself or keep her voice down as she exclaims, "Precisely! I'm _so_ glad you're following along!"

" 'What does this have to do with Erik?' " I question as the spectre leads me towards the rails to look out at the black water ahead. The water appears to be abnormally dark, like ink, and still in spite of the giant ship gliding silently across its surface. Even stranger are the white orbs of light that appear to plummet deep down into the ocean's depths, scattered across the entire sea like points on a map. It almost looks like stars from the sky have fallen into the sea and sunk into the deep. It's strangely alluring, distracting, but even so, I'm still able to keep the focus where it needs to be, " 'What is he hoping to gain from this?' " I ask, not taking my eyes off the terrifyingly alien waters. _Should I be concerned about this?_ " 'He already has leverage against me and I'm going to him just like he wanted!' "

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose that information at this time."

Tearing my gaze away from the water, I eye the spectre with growing dislike and apprehension, but when she gives no indication that she will elaborate, I finally ask a different question, " 'Alright then, why did you warn me?' "

"It's as I said," The spectre sighs impatiently, "_I like you_." Noticing the uncomfortable look on my face, she gives a laugh and says, "Relax, will you? I don't bite. _Although,_ I could take another shape if it'll make you feel more comfortable..." Without warning, that hourglass figure turns into a narrow-hipped, long limbed, barrel chested one with a square jaw and large, rough hands to match. "Better?" She_—_or rather _he__—_asks in a noticeable baritone.

I take a few steps back, thrown by the sudden addition of height and mass, " 'Not really.' " So she can change gender at will? Like a shape shifter? " 'What _is _your power exactly?' "

"Think of me as a much better-looking Freddy Krueger." He says, turning back to the ocean with a wave, as if there's something he wants me to see. I hesitate, not too keen on trusting the evasive Mutant. "I attack you in your dreams and bring your darkest fears into the light. Unfortunately, I can only travel in the subconscious. And _you,_ my friend, just can't seem to stay put. You're caught between dreaming and waking, conscious and unconscious. But your body is shutting down, allowing me to see into your heart where I could only learn about you through others."

I tense at that, " 'What do you mean _others?_' "

He gives me what I might interpret to be a sarcastic smirk, and I know my answer, " 'You've been attacking the Institute.' " I murmur. It all makes sense now. Jean collapsing, freaking out in the middle of school, Rogue running off on a rampage, Logan's suspiciousness of _everyone, _the Professor's madness, Hanks' sleep deprivation, everyone else's sleepless nights...They're all connected. They _must_ be! And this guy is at the center of it all.

"Correct again," The spectre says, before adding ominously, "It's how I know everything I do about you. In fact, I know you better than _anyone_ does. Except for that Rogue girl, of course."

" 'Rogue.' " I echo numbly. Of course. She has my memories. But I don't know how many of them she has.

"She didn't just get what was on the surface, Nightshade." The spectre mumurs, and I look up and give a startled gasp when I find he's increased his height to about seven and a half feet and his limbs and torso are strangely elongated, making him look less Human (or Mutant) than he already is. "She went _deeper _than that. Deeper than Sabretooth, Grigori," I look away, stricken and furious that this stranger knows so much about me, but he reaches out a freakishly stretched out arm that splits into seven parts and begins to envelop me in a thick mist, suffocating in its density. "Before you woke up and discovered everything you knew and loved had changed or forgotten you. Before you were murdered before you were tricked by the brotherhood even." My heartbeat quickens and my stomach clenches with a sudden panic.

Was there even a time before then?

As if reading my thoughts, the specter leans in closer with a small laugh and murmurs, "Yes, even before then."

Before then...

"You may think what happened with Grigori and Victor was painful," The specter continues with growing excitement. He presses in, his voice turning feminine once more but her form no longer bears discernable traits. She looks like something a five year old might draw, with her head being the only definite shape on her person. "But those memories of your family? Your _childhood?_ Now that was some seriously repressed shit there!"

" 'Enough,' " I hiss. My fists, trembling at my sides, curl as a strange, pent up rage envelops me, causing my hands and eyes to glow with pure energy, energy I didn't even know I had. I can't force myself to stop, however. The anger just keeps coming until, finally, I thrust my arms out, screaming, " '_That's enough!_' " The specter gives a shriek as light explodes in his/her face and when the light clears out, I find myself alone once more.

Panting and shaking all over, I look around with growing panic, certain I've killed yet another person in a moment of desperation.

Then, "You should learn to control that temper."

I breathe a sigh of relief but quickly conceal it, " 'What do you want from me really?' " I ask demandingly, looking around for the source of the womanly voice floating about my head. But this spectre seems intent on not showing herself. Fine with me. " 'You already know..._everything._ What more could you want?' "

"Hey, I'm just a curious bystander." The spectre says innocently enough, still keen on remaining hidden.

I shake my head, all of a sudden feeling very, very tired. I can't even _begin_ to put all of this together. It just doesn't make sense and yet it seems to be answering all of my questions at once. I swear, as soon as I ditch this freak, I'm taking that adrenaline! " 'That isn't my life anymore.' " I murmur firmly, more to myself than anyone. " 'I chose a different one the day Magneto and the Brotherhood came into my life. You can tell _that_ to Magneto.' " I add angrily, certain this is all just a product of him wanting to know more of my weaknesses. " 'Otherwise, stay the _fuck_ out of my head!' "

I turn to go back down into the cargo hold, unnerved by the strange silence of the waves and the ocean in general, but pull up short when I find the spectre (back in her female form) blocking my path. Her posture isn't threatening and her voice is strangely quiet but even more disquieting is her final question, "Did you ever blame them?"

I pause, thrown yet again. She means my family, I'm sure. If I ever blamed them for...

I swallow the lump in my throat, open my mouth to give her what she wants, then change my mind and press my lips tightly together. _You're not my friend._ My look says. _ And even if you were, I wouldn't share** that** with you._ The Spectre lowers her head slightly, looking slightly defeated. Then says a little stronger, "You're almost there." She begins to recede into the darkness as I cast a glance at the ocean behind me, but there doesn't seem to be land anywhere near us.

Off-handedly, voice fading into the background, the spectre gives me one piece of startling advice, "You'd better wake up if you don't want to take a swim."

"What?" Is my automatic response, then a half a second later, I'm jolting awake in the cargo hold with a syringe in my hand at my side and Azazel still sound asleep beside me.

* * *

**Sorry for all the delays! My computer keeps restarting and I keep losing my data, goddamned it! Anyway, more to come (hopefully) soon. I've also been working on another project for the New Recruit series but I'll try to keep up with this one a little better. Thanks for reading! Until next time!**

**~THESCRIBE!;D**


	20. Chapter 20 Hey, Stranger!

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words and OC's. Thanks for reading and Enjoy!;D**

Chapter 20: Hey, Stranger

I jolt straight up just as the ship gives an abrupt lurch, panting heavily as my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. I place a hand at my head, realizing I had almost fallen asleep and (judging by the syringe half-sticking out of the floor) nearly made the long travel back into my body for the night. _But—but that's impossible!_ There's no _way_ that whole conversation occurred in those few _seconds!_

Then again...the spectre _did _say I was caught between sleeping and waking. Maybe she was able to sneak into my subconscious in that small increment? Either way, I can't allow this to happen again. If she could take me over just because I _almost_ fell asleep, then I need to make sure I'm 100% focused from here on out.

Knowing the syringe I'd been about to use probably has contaminates in it now (what with it being melded into the metal of the cargo hold floor), I remove a new one from the case and, with a deep breath and a small whimper, I plunge it into my thigh, figuring this will have the same effect than if I injected myself in the neck or the arm. Immediately, I feel it beginning to work. My hands start to tingle and my heart gives a flutter as my breathing quickens. My legs give a small jerk and I rapidly push back against the wall with a groan as my heart rate skyrockets to the moon and my limbs become supercharged with energy. I shoot to my feet, pacing as my eyes dialate, making my vision slightly blurry and yet heightened at the same time.

My thoughts, too, seem to race faster than I can sort them out. _I-I need to go,_ Is all I can interpret for a certainty, urgency making my thoughts rush by in a blur of words and images. _No, I need to **run.**_ _Like **now. **_I—**_my cat!_** _I need to-to find my cat, yes! And, ah, and-and my **friends.** Yes! My friends. And Magneto. **Augh!** Magneto! He is **so** going down!_

I turn to Azazel, dropping heavily to my knees beside him and he jolts awake, his tail whipping towards me on impulse. Reflexes at their peak, I catch it inches from my neck, and give him a shake, saying hurriedly and in a loud whisper, "Chill, it's just me! C'mon, we need to go. Erik usually greets his new recruits as soon as they get off the ship and he'll know we're here if we don't get off the ship first so we should definitely do that_ now_ and_ wow_ your tail is hard what is this _made _of? Anyway, _come on_ before the crewmen realize we're stowaways!"

I pull him to his feet before he has the chance to comment on my strange behavior and I quickly lead him up the stairs, practically levitating I'm moving so fast. I hear Azazel curse behind me, then whisper urgently, "Elizabeth! We're visible!"

I stop abruptly, "Of course!" I concentrate and, with remarkable ease, we turn invisible. Fantastic! I should use adrenaline more often! This is _great!_ "Let's go!"

We make it above deck and pause our movements just as a few sailors make their way down to the cargo hold, barking harshly for the Mutants to wake up and get moving. It's early morning and it's cold as all hell, making me want to get the hell off of the water even sooner. We're about four hundred feet from the docks, I'd say. "Can you make it to the shore?" I whisper loudly.

By way of answering, Azazel teleports us off the vessel and onto the sand. Exhilarated, I start at a run, eager to get back to my house and hug the _shit_ out of my cat. We make it to my house faster than I thought we would and I burst through the front door with so much excitement that I don't even take time to consider that this might actually be a trap. "Ghost!" I call wildly, wandering through the still messed up house as that drug-induced buzz continues to rile up my system. "Where are you, kitty?!" I run up the stairs, leaving Azazel to gawk silently at the blood-stained floors, broken furniture, and spoiled food that I left in my wake when I was forced to run from Erik's forces. His look is grim and he probably is in serious need of an explanation, but right now all I can think about is finding my cat.

And I _do_ find him.

And I find someone else as well.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I question the spectre as he sits on my unwashed bed with Ghost curled up peacefully in his arms. I thought he could only get in my head when I'm asleep! Or is this just his typical form? Or am I just crazy?...

"I could ask you the same." The spectre replies stoically. "And please, use your inside voice." He runs a misty palm over Ghosts' back and the cat gives a contented purr, snuggling up against the shadowy figure in complete comfort. "We don't want to wake up fluffy here."

" 'His name is Ghost, actually.' " I retort heatedly, realizing it would probably be best that Azazel doesn't hear my talking to myself up here (in the event that I really am the only one who can see this spectre). " 'God, what is it with you and touching my stuff?!' "

"_Stuff?_" The spectre repeats incredulously, scoffing as he sets my cat down on the bed and stands, crossing his arms with a haughty, "Possesive much?"

" 'At least I tell it like it is.' " I snap back, strutting to the closet so I can restock my gear. I'm seriously low on harpoons and a few extra knives couldn't hurt. " 'In stead of hiding my true intentions like _some people.' " _

"I've told you only the truth, Nightshade." The spectre argues, retaking a female shape once more. "I've been trying to _help _you." She adds, placing a hand on my arm. "Just like I'm going to do now."

" 'Help me?' " I retort, jerking my arm away with excessive force. " 'You mean get into my head and tell Magneto all my secrets!' "

"That _is_ part of my job description, yes." The spectre admits, backing up as I toss a pack filled with supplies onto my bed. Ghost glares at me but reluctantly brushes his face against my hand in what you might call a 'loving gesture.' (_That's my pussy!_) "But as I said," The spectre continues irritably. "I don't like what he's trying to do to you." The specre gives a twitch—almost like a glitch—then murmurs hurriedly, tensely, "You shouldn't be here."

" 'Neither should you.' " I mutter back, slapping the last of my available harpoons in my cuffs and slinging the pack across my shoulders. I give a startled gasp when the spectre appears right in front of my face, limbs and neck freakishly stretched out, and shouts, "_No, you idiot!_ I mean this is the first place they'll be expecting to _find _you. They've got cameras everywhere! You need to get out. _Now!_"

I curse, my eyes widening with understanding. They'll be on us any second!

I phase down stairs with Ghost in my arms and find Azazel already backing away from the window as a pink flash lights up in the distance, saying, "We should go."

"Agreed." I mutter, my earlier buzz wearing off only enough for me to be able to think a bit more clearly. Ghost, terrified of the scarlet Mutant before us, wriggles out of my grasp and slinks between my legs with a hiss. Azazel glares right back, probably not a fan, and his tail gives an irritable twitch. I ignore them both, murmuring, "The question is where to?"

Azazel raises his eyebrows in questioning, "You have friends, da?"

I pause. The dance studio will be the next place they'll think to look most likely. But do they know about Tarina's lounge? As far as I've ever seen, I'm the only one she lets in there aside from her family. And I _have_ to know they're okay. Turning to Azazel, I reach a hand up to the side of his face, resting my fingers lightly against his temple, and close my eyes, summoning up an image of the lounge in my mind and transferring it to his own. After a moment, I open my eyes again, overly conscious of the softness of his hair on the tips of my fingers, and murmur, "Got it?"

He stares at me, my hand still on his cheek, and he lays his hand over mine, fingers curling tightly over my fingers. And, for a brief moment, it's as if nothing has changed. It's almost as if we're back at Erik's mansion with the Brotherhood, just barely starting to feel each other out, wondering what the hell it is that I find so damned attractive in him. That familiar flutter surfaces in the pit of my stomach and my face heats up instantly in a blush. I almost forgot what it was like to get nervous around him! I feel like my chances of doing something incredibly klutzy or embarrassing has increased substantially in the past second or so.

Azazel's hand squeezes mine lightly, "I think so."

We teleport away, taking a disoriented Ghost with us, and inside the lounge. At first, I still can't break my gaze from Azazel's, what with him staring at me with those startlingly pale blues so intently, but then, something catches my eye. A shattered mirror with a finger painting tacked to it by what looks like a wooden barb of some kind. I break away from Azazel, my face falling, and move closer, tearing the barb from the picture to study it closer. It's the painting from my first night on Genosha! When I was reunited with Tarina and met her daughter for the first time. The painting is very good for having been done by only a toddler, almost like something a professional painter might doodle in their spare time. Golden spirals intermingle with black swirls and white streaks, and a small name has been inscribed in the corner:_ Shay_.

I look away from the picture, tears of guilt prickling my eyes as I try to get a grip on myself.

He has the whole family.

"A-alright," I say shakily, keeping my back to Azazel as I sniff and wipe the tears from my face. Ghost, having recovered from his initial confusion with teleportation, laces himself between my legs, comforting me. "Here's the plan. I'm going to turn myself in. Once I do that, they'll have no way of knowing you're here. I'll keep in contact with you as long as I can and then you can tell Emma where I'm at." My voice shakes and I take a deep breath to keep my calm. "Once I find out where they're being kept I'll-I'll, ah..." I clear my throat. My first impulse is to rescue them but, knowing Erik, it just won't be that simple. "I'll tell you the exact location," I continue. "And then I want you to contact Emma to pick you up."

"And leave you here with Erik." Azazel finishes, not so much as a question but a statement. "Why does this not sound like a good idea?"

"Hey, this is what we planned alright?" I whirl on him, angry and ready to fight. Just not with him. "We have no other choice. If Erik doesn't let me go, then I'll contact you to pick me up," I add a little softer, folding the painting carefully and ducking it into the fold of my jacket with care. "And that's only if I _can._ If you don't hear back from me in a few hours then I want you to leave." I glance around the room, noting its dire state. They tore the place up, probably looking for all those files Tarina and Aaron procured from me. "There's nothing you can do past that point. It's Erik's game now."

"_Or," _Azazel presses, taking my arm and turning me back to him. Ghost hisses at him again and bolts for the overturned couch where he will no doubt make his home. "We make it _our_ game." I perk an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Azazel's gaze remains cool and my heart give a strange sqeeze with his every word, entranced by the peculiar way they roll off his tongue, foreign and confident. "Erik believes he has you in a corner. Perhaps he does." He adds when I roll my eyes. He inclines his head to catch my eye once more and says quietly, earnestly, "But you have friends who are loyal. Don't be so quick to push us away." His hands move up to my arms and he gives them a reassuring squeeze, "You need us." He tilts his head to the side with a light smirk and a hint of concern, "Da?"

I inhale shakily. I really wish I could pretend things were back to the way they were with us. But things like this just keep reminding me that they're not. He doesn't remember me. He isn't even quite the same person I knew. But I want him to be. Which is probably why I allow him to kiss me. Lightly. No resistance, no complications. Just an innocent little kiss. And for the first time in a long while, time seems to slow down. Memories flood back sporadically into my mind and, incidentally, transfer to him through me. Flashes of our fight from our very first encounter surface, pausing at the part where we ended up on the floor and our connection first sparked. Then it flashes forward to that day that I fell through the ceiling. The way I felt seeing him in that tiny, tiny towel. How excited we _both _were when we landed on his bed. The stupid, gooey love exchange in the hospital after my first fight with Sabretooth...

Azazel breaks away from me, his arms still around me, and blinks a few times as the memories receed. He gives a small exhale of surprise and I smile softly, sadly. I unclasp my hands from the lapels of his suit and smooth them out, saying, "I'll tell you when I reach the prison."

His hand comes up on impulse and he moves a length of hair out of my face with the deft brush of his fingers, "You know where it is?"

I nod, "I've only visited it once." I confess, remembering Carhart with yet another pang of guilt. "I had to recieve special clearance to go once and they never let me get a good look around." That should have been my _first_ clue. "That'll be the first place I look."

"_We._"

I look up at him sharply but he looks pretty serious as per usual, "Azazel..." I say in warning.

"Nyet." He argues firmly. "If there is trouble, we will have better chance of escape this way. I can't just wait here with _this._" He adds with a little too much emphasis on 'this, ' gesturing to my cat with the wave of his hand. He really doesn't like cats, does he? "I'm coming with you."

I sigh but figure, "Hell. Why not?" How can I argue with that face anyhow?

We start to leave, leaving Ghost to wander the studio on his own (Trust me, he's a resourceful little bugger), but Azazel pulls up short the second we enter the dark hallway leading to the dance studio. " 'What is it?' " I ask telepathically, alarmed. That's when I hear it. The scratching, sniffing, skittering of a feral Mutant. I clutch Azazel's arm, turning us invisible and intangible as the creature moves towards the hall. She looks just like she sounds: like a giant rat. Her black eyes glitter in the darkness and she lifts her soft-ball shaped head and sniffs deeply. Her ears perk and she gives a terrifying hiss, revealing huge teeth as she screeches, "They're here!"

Azazel and I curse at the same time but before I can suggest that we simply teleport away, Azazel tugs out of my grasp and charges for the feral with his blade drawn. The Mutant gives a screech in response and turns on her front legs, her thick, pink tail cracking like a whip as it heads right for Azazel. They probably didn't anticipate him helping me, however, so, when he simply teleports out of her reach. When he teleports just a foot or so behind her, the feral has no time to react before he brings his blade down on her with full force, an intended kill strike.

_He's going to kill her._

I reach a hand out in sudden terror and scream, "_No!_"

It's too late to stop. Azazel (whether he heard me or not) and I both know this. I, however, am at the top of my game right now (thank you, adrenaline!) and only _just_ manage to turn the rat intangible before Azazel's blade cuts right through her. Floored, the Mutant pants rapidly, her clawed hand pressed into her chest (which currently has a knife through it) then promptly faints on the spot.

My legs nearly give out myself. _No killing, _Is all I can think. It's my one rule. One that I_ always_ enforced when I served my time as the head of the T.M.I.D. (or at least thought I did) for Magneto. And it's all I can think now, _No killing. No killing..._

Azazel wrenches his blade out of the marble floor with a grunt and glares up at me so fiercely, I _almost_ flinch.

He _really_ wanted to kill her...And he's _angry_ that I stopped him!

He glares at me a moment longer, his blade dulled and most likely chipped from making contact with the floor, but I don't back down. I glare back, seething that he would _do_ something like that to a complete stranger (probably just doing what she can to survive just like Brutus and Domino and, well, _me_) and, for a moment, that sweet little moment we had a moment ago seems more like a pipe dream to me. To us _both_ probably.

"Wilma!" We both hear a voice shout, followed by the pounding of foot steps and Azazel turns to meet our next attacker, a youth with long hair and an innocent-enough face. But once he sees _Wilma_ unconscious at Azazel's feet, his demeanor changes entirely. His face contorts with anger and, quick as a flash, he extends his arm and fires a wooden stake at the scarlet Mutant. He misses, naturally, what with Azazel's wicked fast reflexes, and the wood splinters against an opposing wall. Azazel teleports just before the Mutant, blade raised once more, only to meet a solid wall of purple energy that repells him back and across the dance floor.

I drop my shield and, as I charge for him, the youth makes to throw a stake at me, but I phase through him and throw a hand over his mouth with one hand and taze him in the side with the other. If I allowed Azazel to kill him, I'd never be able to live with myself. Especially now that I know what it's like to be in the lad's shoes. Here in Genosha, you have to give something to get something. Being apart of Genoshan law enforcement is just part of the deal for some.

I drop the boy just as Azazel teleports in front of me, looking positively livid. But he isn't the only one who's pissed.

I reach out, levitating slightly to give me added height on him, and whip him around, slamming him against the wall with my forearm slung across his shoulders, eyes glowing menacingly, "_No. Killing._" I hiss through gritted teeth, having taken him by surprise for the moment. "They _don't_ deserve it."

Faster than lightning, he grabs my wrist and yanks me down and forward, "I will kill anyone who threatens me, _or you!_" He snarls right back, absolutely furious. "Do _not_ think otherwise!"

I wrench myself out of his grasp, stepping back with a rough, "Good to know."

We hold each others' gazes a moment longer, wondering what the hell just happened, before Azazel finally says in only a _slightly_ hostile tone, "Others will be here to look for them. Where is the prison?"

"It's too far to teleport to from here." I say, unable to hide my own anger towards him, "And there isn't anywhere else we can hide—"

My words are cut off by a booming rattle that shakes the entire building and knocks us both off our feet. It feels like an earthquake just shot right under us but only for a brief second. Scrambling to my feet, I turn to face our attacker, an older man with graying hair and dark eyes. I make to go after him—before_ Azazel_ can—but something wraps around my legs, tripping me up, and reels me back down the hall. Turning on my back, I withdraw one of my broad swords and sever the black chord around my ankles.

The thing that had been trying to drag me away withdraws with a terrible scream and I start back down the hall in the hopes of stopping Azazel from doing what I now know he won't hesitate to do, only to stop short when a large, metal figure steps into my path, "You're way in over your head, Miss Lady." Iron Helm rumbles, stepping forward with his eyes and hands glowing white.

"I could say the same for you, Rory." I reply, letting my own hands and eyes glow as well. I grip my blade in both hands, crouching, and say, "You can't touch me."

"Don't have to." Faster than I would have given him credit for, Iron Helm drops to one knee and touches his palm to the ground, and sends a low-voltage electric pulse through the ground that sends me the floor with a painfilled cry. _Damn it! _Erik is learning. Even **_I_** can't phase through electricity. Not without the help of a force field. The currents somehow get me. I discovered this the night that MRD soldiers attempted to assassinate Magneto's daughter, Lorna. So much for fucking gratitude!

"Now," Helm grunts, turning me over on my back with one knee on my stomach and his hand on my jaw. "Make this easy for both of us, will you?" I peer at him, still trembling from the shock, and my eyes widen when I find him attempting to place an inhibitor collar around my neck.

Ignoring the pain still wracking my entire body, I close my eyes and phase through the ground before levitating back up and behind Iron Helm, careful not to touch the ground. This time, however, I focus (not only on intangibility and levitation) but invisibility as well. My adrenaline is surging twice as much now, allowing me to act in ways I never thought possible.

Unable to locate me, Iron Helm gives a curse and places his hand on the ground, sending a current along its surface once more. When he finds this still doesn't work, he rises and calls into his com, "Status."

**No sign of Nighshade.** Domino's voice calls back, her voice sounding tired and reluctant. We'd gotten pretty close during my time here and I remember how she'd struggled when she tried to take me in the first time only a few days ago. It's good to know she still cares at least.

"And her friend?" Iron Helm asks, moving back down the hall and right through me. I follow him, my heart skipping at the mention of Azazel. That's a good question. Where _is_ he?

There's a slight hesitation, then, **Got 'im.**

_Fuck!_

"Good," Helm croons, standing with a slight groan. "Now she's got _no choice_ but to give herself up. Good work, D."

Fuck, fuck!

"Yeah..." Domino replies, not sounding very enthused, then goes off the line. Iron Helm takes a few steps towards his fellow fallen Mutants, then pauses just as I'm about to leave, saying, "If you're still here, you better hope you got a plan. You're takin' a lotta people down with you, lady."

_I know._

_I know..._

* * *

**_More on this new development in a bit! Hopefully in less time, however, than it's been taking -_- Anyway, more to come soon! Thanks for reading. until next time..._**

**_~THESCRIBE!;D_**


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